Lingering Demons
by MistEssence
Summary: Robin is lured and blackmailed into an apprenticeship within which he eventually loses any hope for rescue, and he changes in many ways. When the Teen Titans do discover his predicament and come to his rescue, will it be too late for Robin to return to the life he once knew? Full summary inside. Based on "Apprentice". Rated for violence, language, and dark themes (self-harm, etc.)
1. Chapter 1: Apprentice

Author's Note: Here is the full summary:

Robin, leader of a group of crime-fighting heroes known as the Teen Titans, is lured to the lair of an enigmatic mercenary and criminal mastermind, Slade, where Slade blackmails Robin into betraying his friends and joining with him as an apprentice. During his captivity, Robin is taken on an emotional roller coaster as he slowly loses hope and comes to terms with his reality: he has no choice but to embrace the life that Slade creates for him. Soon enough, it is all he knows and Robin is changed in many ways. When the Teen Titans finally decipher Robin's predicament and arrive to fight to take him back, will it be too late for Robin to return to the life he once knew?

Rated T for now, but might change to M in the future (but no explicit sex). Rated for violence, suggestive themes, coarse language, substance abuse, and dark themes like abuse, self-harm, rape, and suicide.

Constructive criticism is welcome. This is basically my take on what happened during and after Robin's apprenticeship. It begins at the start of Season 1 Episode 12, Apprentice pt. I. Chapter 1 follows the show very closely, but a most of the rest of the content is my own additions / changes. Safe to read if you've only made it through season one, no spoilers from the rest of the show. :) Enjoy!

* * *

Robin gasped awake, cold sweat chilling his brow.

 _Another one about Slade,_ he noted, calming despite the unsettling nature of the dream. The smooth darkness fell away as a beam of light shot into his room. It was Cyborg at the door.

"It's him," he said grimly. "It's Slade."

Robin's heart raced once more.

* * *

"Good morning, Teen Titans," Slade's voice reverberated coolly through the living room. "I do hope I didn't wake you."

"What are you, an insomniac? Who calls at five in the m—" Beast Boy's sarcasm ended in a sharp grunt as Raven jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, effectively silencing him.

Robin gripped the edge of the computer interface so tightly his fingers hurt. "What do you want?" he growled.

"Well, that's precisely what you've been trying to find out, isn't it? And in spite of all your efforts, you're still in the dark about my intentions. Disappointing, Robin. I expected a little more from you." The metal of Slade's mask glinted in the moonlight.

Robin clenched his teeth. "Like I care what you—"

"But since you've been unable to discover my plan, I suppose I'll just have to reveal it myself." Slade motioned behind him, and the camera followed to where two of his robots began removing a tarp covering a massive structure. "I'm sure you're all familiar with the concept of a chronoton detonator." As he spoke, the uncovered detonator extended upwards and slits of red lit up on it like menacing eyes.

The room rung with an assortment of gasps and exclamations of dismay.

"No way!" cried Beast Boy. "Uhhm… What's a crouton detonator?"

Starfire clasped her hands tightly in front of her chest in apprehension. "It eradicates all chronotons within a localized area, utterly destroying the temporal component of the space-time continuum!"

Beast Boy shot Raven a confused look.

"It stops time. Permanently."

Cyborg's eyes narrowed. "If he triggers that thing downtown, it'll freeze-frame the entire city."

Robin leaned towards the screen, as if to try to intimidate his nemesis. "Tell me where!"

"You're a clever boy, Robin. I'm sure you and your little friends can figure it out. However… since I control the detonation…" Slade raised the detonator towards the camera, "…time is not on your side." The screen faded to snow.

Robin slammed his fist on the computer. His voice was low as he turned and walked past the Titans, "Fan out. Find it. Shut it down!"

Starfire looked at him worriedly. Suddenly Cyborg and Beast Boy blocked Robin's path, arms crossed.

"Hey, uh…" Beast Boy began, pulling at his collar nervously, "Maybe you should stay here and… coordinate the search."

"What?"

"Man, when it comes to Slade, you got issues," Cyborg said somewhat gently. "Might be better for the team if you sit this one out."

"No," Robin refused harshly, pushing past them, "There's too much at stake for me to—"

"Robin." Starfire's protest made Robin stop and turn around. "We have not forgotten the last time you faced—"

"I made a _mistake_ , Starfire," he said, recalling the incidents caused by his creation, his alter ego, Red X. "It won't happen again. I can handle it," he assured them as he turned to go. "I promise."

"We'd at least like to know where to look," Raven said from the computer. All Titans turned back towards the huge screen. "Slade gave us more information than he realized."

On the computer was a screenshot of the chronoton detonator with its red glowing eyes. Raven zoomed in. "Here. In this reflection."

"Ooh, squiggly lines. _Way_ informative," resounded Beast Boy's sarcasm.

Raven typed a bit, and the reflection was decoded:

"Pier 41!" Starfire exclaimed.

"The docks," Robin affirmed.

* * *

The abandoned warehouse on the docks loomed before the Titans, moonlight flashing on the wide metal doors. The Titans got in position, and Cyborg shot a sonic blast from his cannon, striking down the one of the doors. All five spilled inside through the smoke, weapons and powers prepared.

"Empty?" Starfire's voice was disbelieving.

"Oh, man!" Cyborg moaned dejectedly.

"I don't believe this—" Robin began, but then dark figures flooded the floors around them and the beams above them. Slade's robots. They also blocked the entrance the Titans had made.

 _No turning back now_ , Robin thought.

"Great, now what do we do?" Beast Boy asked, glancing about at the enemies that surrounded them.

"We _fight_ ," Robin answered in a low voice, extending his bo-staff to its full length in preparation.

The robots began closing in.

"Titans, _go_!" Robin shouted, effectively commencing the battle. Each Titan locked onto and sped towards their chosen targets.

The first bot dove towards Robin's legs, but he jumped, and kicked another in the metal face, casting it away from him. He threw the bo-staff as if it were a spear, and it lodged within the side of another's head. Retrieving his bo-staff, his peripheral vision caught the robot about to pounce upon him from above. It fell from the beam after a collision with the weapon, and Robin's lightning-fast eyes scanned the room for more.

Cyborg charged with a yell towards his bots, but before he could collide, Robin launched himself at them, effectively knocking them to the cement floor.

Starfire spiraled upwards, starbolts glowing in her hands, but before she could shoot them, Robin destroyed her enemies.

Beast Boy, cornered, transformed into a large horned bull, pushing away the metal figures, and kicked and snorted, about to charge, until Robin, again, wiped them out for him.

"Azarath Metrion Zinth—" Raven cut off her magic words with a gasp as Robin appeared before her, annihilating the robots around her.

Things continued on like so, until the other four Titans were against the wall, watching the devastation occur beneath Robin's wrath. He finished off the last one, pounding its face in with his bo-staff repeatedly.

"Uh… Robin? I think you got him."

"Yes, please!" Starfire pleaded, hands wringing together apprehensively, approaching her teammate. "We may stop now." She clutched his arm, stopping him. "We are victorious."

Robin rose, breathless. "Slade's got his finger on the button, and we've got _nothing_ ," he snarled, retracting his staff, "Does _that_ sound like a victory to _you_?" He walked away, cape fluttering in the musty air.

The Titans cast each other wordless uneasy glances.

* * *

Back outside, the teammates regrouped in the moonlight.

"Okay, we know the chronoton detonator was here," Cyborg said, reading the small computer on his arm, "Now we just have to figure out where it went."

"No problem," Beast Boy declared, "We should split up and—"

"Waste hours searching only to come up empty-handed?" Raven countered.

"Well, when you say it like _that_ …"

"Raven is right," Starfire acknowledged, "We must find some way to track the device."

Robin's eye caught a human shadow sliding against the next building, illuminated by fluorescent lights.

"Freeze!" he yelled, but the shadow ran back the way it came. Robin pursued immediately.

He nimbly climbed to the roof of a low building, and his bird-a-rang flashed and lodged in the ground in front of the fleeing man. Robin leapt and took him by the overalls, slamming him against the wall.

"Tell me everything you know about this!" he commanded, holding up Slade's black "S" badge for the man to see.

The man raised his palms, yielding. His voice almost squeaked with fear, but no words came.

"Answer me, _now!_ " Robin pulled him forward and shoved him angrily back against the wall with a _thump_.

"I've never seen it before! I don't know anything! Honest!"

Suddenly a blackness eclipsed Robin's torso, binding his arms, and he flew back about twenty feet, colliding with the wall. When he looked down, he saw Raven approach.

"You said you could handle it," she said in disapproval, releasing him. The others joined her, their body language closed.

"You promised," Starfire pleaded, clasping her hands before her chest.

Robin slipped to the ground. "We're wasting time!" He pivoted on one foot and began to leave.

"You know," Beast Boy protested, "Just 'cause we're trying to catch Slade doesn't mean you have to act like him!"

Robin stopped. Something in the air changed.

"Don't you _ever_ compare me to him," Robin fumed, turning around and closing in on his teammate so their faces were close. "He's trying to _destroy_ the city; I'm trying to _save_ it!"

Robin's voice echoed off the walls, and a sore silence filled the night.

"Ah- _CHOO!_ " Starfire sneezed violently, filling the air with green light and then smoke. "Forgive me, I'm allergic to metallic chromium. There must be a source near—"

The Titans took hurried steps away from her. "Ah- _CHOO_!" She sniffed as the smoke cleared. "Ugh. Sorry."

"Interesting," Cyborg noted, approaching her while his gaze was fixed on his arm-computer, viewing the graph displayed.

"Uh, not really. In my world, chromium allergies are quite common."

"No," he said, "The key component of a chronoton detonator is a metallic chromium core, which means…"

"Starfire can _track_ it," Beast Boy comprehended.

Starfire sniffled again.

* * *

The sewer walls were roomy, with a walkway on either side, but they were coated in sludge. It reeked.

"Ah- _CHOO_!" Starfire sniffled, wiping her nose, then pointed. "Ugh, I believe it is this way."

The five teens walked silently through the gloom, until Robin, who was trailing behind, spoke up.

"Look… guys, uh… about earlier…"

The Titans stopped. "It'll have to wait," Raven indicated in front of her, to a boat with one of Slade's robots. And a looming mass of shadow: the chronoton detonator.

The bot finally noticed their presence. Robin thought it odd its microphone didn't pick up their voices before now.

"Titans, _go_!"

The robot revved up the boat and put it in high gear, speeding away.

"Quick, we can't let it get aw— _aah!_ " Something burst through the sewer wall and took Robin by the arm through the new opening.

"Robin!" Starfire cried. The teens gathered hurriedly to the hole in the wall, where they saw Robin dodging blows from a tall angular figure: Cinderblock.

"Get the detonator! _Go_!" he cried, jumping out of the way of the huge stone fist that put a hole in the ground where he was standing. The Titans obeyed, except Starfire, who lingered.

"Star! You heard the man!" Cyborg called. Reluctantly she sped to join them.

* * *

Robin cut away from punch after punch, each one utterly collapsing the stone columns in the room. Cinderblock growled incomprehensibly at him as he landed about thirty feet away.

"Only fair to warn you… you caught me on a bad day."

Cinderblock snarled in response, and the two charged at each other. Cinderblock pulled back to punch, and Robin leapt into the air to avoid it, tossing a bola like a lasso around his enemy's thick neck, before swinging a vicious kick at his red-eyed face.

Cinderblock stumbled backwards, and Robin landed in front of him, reached up, clutched him by the neck, and threw him over his head, causing the massive stone adversary to go limp.

Robin landed on Cinderblock's chest, ready to land a punch if necessary. "Where is he?! Where's—huh?"

A beeping noise emanated from his fallen opponent's hand. Robin went to it, crouching, examining the small screen of the device. It was a map. Of the city. And only a few blocks away, a small angular "S" blinked in yellow.

His mouth formed a triumphant grin.

Slade.

* * *

Robin stood behind the door, listening.

The calm, cool voice of Slade came through: "Hurry, young Titans. Your time is running out."

With that, Robin threw an explosive disc at the door, blowing it to pieces, throwing up dust into the dark air.

His voice was low when he spoke. "Actually… we just went into overtime."

"Robin. Welcome," Slade greeted him casually, without turning around from the large screen he was facing. "I've been expecting you for some time. I was beginning to wonder if Cinderblock was too much of a challenge."

Robin jumped down from the ledge to the floor upon which Slade stood. The screens depicted the Titans, still chasing the boat with the chronoton detonator. Countless gears and cogs clacked and creaked in the shadows. Looking up at Slade's figure, dark except for the edges illuminated by the screen, Robin forgot how large the man was.

"Looking for this?" Slade turned, waving the detonator's trigger in his hand. "Well, here it is." He placed it into a spotlight on the cement floor, stepping back. "If you want it, come and take it."

Robin glared into the man's only visible eye, which seemed to glow behind the spotlight. _Clack, click. Clack, click._ He decided to make the first move, to try and put Slade on the defensive. He charged with a roar.

 _This is it_.

But Slade dodged his kick and pulled back to punch. Robin shielded his torso with his arms, and the force of the punch sent him flying backwards, but he landed mostly on his feet. He spotted the beam of light out of the corner of his eye, and decided to leap for the trigger—but a kick to his side knocked him away.

Slade landed before him. "Come, now, Robin," he said, moving towards him, "You'll have to do better than that. I haven't even broken a sweat."

With that he broke into a run towards Robin, who was barely able to shield himself from the fierce kick that sent him stumbling backwards. But Slade kept coming.

Punch. Roundhouse. It was all Robin could do to just dodge. Finally he saw an opening, and threw a hook, and it connected, but Slade recovered more quickly than he expected, kicking him in the chest. Robin staggered backwards again, snarling in frustration through gritted teeth. _Only one hit_.

Slade came at him again, and Robin cut away from the series of swift punches. Robin's roundhouse missed; Slade leaped over him. Their eyes locked again, and Slade's attack barely missed as Robin sprung away, landing on his hands and then flipping over to his feet.

 _Stop letting him put you on the defensive!_ He thought. _Offense, offense!_ With an angry cry he hurdled towards his opponent with a strong right jab. Missed. Left jab, right hook, left uppercut, all missed. Slade's speed was astounding for his size.

Another right hook, this one Slade caught in his palm, his thick, gloved fingers curling over Robin's fist tightly. "Good technique," Slade noted. In a swift motion, he pulled the fist down and back, causing Robin to cry out in pain as the force made his elbow crackle.

Helpless, Robin struggled as Slade lifted him into the air and then threw him by his cape across the floor with such power that he didn't stop sliding until his back and head hit the far wall.

He got up. Too fast. Dizziness clouded his eyesight with black spots and he sank to his knees with a pained groan of protest. _No!_

Slade took a step towards him. "Good," he complimented, crossing his arms thoughtfully in front of his chest, "But not perfect."

Robin's vision swam with neon colors. _Get up_! At last he forced himself to his feet, the dizziness subsiding. He charged with an enraged roar, leaped into the air, ready to front-flip into a powerful kick.

Bad move. Slade's uppercut caught him square in the abdomen, knocking the breath out of him. Struggling to inhale, he descended to all fours. When he finally was able to take in breath, it came out of him with a strange pained sound. Spots marred his vision again.

Slade chuckled, waited a moment, and then kicked Robin again, watching him tumble across the floor.

 _Can't do this…_ Robin lay on his front, his breathing heavy and too fast. He slammed a fist on the floor as he powerlessly watched Slade approach.

Robin's nemesis looked down at him, arms behind his back. "I understand your frustration, Robin. You hate losing as much as I do. One of the many qualities we have in common."

At that, he felt something snap inside him. Before he knew it, his uppercut caught the chin of Slade's metal mask. A right hook to the face. A left one, and Slade flipped backwards away from him, landing deftly. Robin crouched before him, then attacked again.

Punch after punch. _Why is he not retaliating?_ But he took the opportunity to land blows. Two kicks under the chin threw Slade onto his back.

Looking down, he was near the spotlight again. And the detonator. He picked it up, and then looked at the man on the floor. "It's over, Slade."

"On the contrary, Robin…" came the dark voice. The detonator suddenly began sparking in his hand before it burst in a tiny explosion of metal pieces.

Slade was up again. He walked towards Robin, his one eye seeming to glow in the gloom.

"…This is only the beginning."

Robin's brow furrowed. "Where's the real trigger?" he demanded.

"Trigger? There is no trigger. Because there is no detonator."

 _What?_

Slade walked to the front of the huge room, where the screen was. But now it depicted what looked like… a microscopic view of blood vessels, with red blood cells flowing through them. Not just those, though; there were also small metallic-looking devices swimming along. This video was repeated four times, and at the top of each read the following: "Cyborg", "Starfire", "Raven", and "Beast Boy".

"Nanoscopic probes," Slade said coolly. "The chronoton detonator was merely the bait for a much larger trap." He turned around and from his wrist protruded a red button. "You see, with the push of a button, my probes will destroy your friends… from the inside… out."

"You can't control them," Robin declared. "No matter what you threaten, they'll never obey you."

"This isn't about your _friends_ , Robin," Slade began, arms behind his back, making a path around Robin, "It's about _you_. It's always been about you."

"What?"

"Sending trouble your way. Leaving cryptic clues for you to unravel… I was testing you. For some time now, I've been searching for… an apprentice. Someone to follow in my footsteps," Slade came close to Robin and leaned in towards his face menacingly. "And Robin, I've chosen you. Congratulations."

Panic rose in Robin's throat. "No _way_ would I ever work for—" He stopped as Slade poised a finger over the button on his wrist.

"If you join me… if you swear to serve me… if you never speak to your friends again… I will allow them to live. _But_ … if you disobey even the smallest request, I will _annihilate_ them, Robin. And I'll make you watch," he hissed.

Robin swallowed, standing stoically, eyes unfocused as his mind spun.

"So. Do we have a deal?"

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

I had to do research on Robin's specific weapons to figure out what they were. He has so many cool gadgets. So I checked out the Teen Titans Wikia. It's chock-full of cool information, but watch out for the spoilers!

This is only the first chapter, but already we see into Robin's thoughts, since Robin is the main character in this story. Only Robin's thoughts are revealed; therefore, I'm choosing to write this story in third-person limited.

When you're writing a scene with more than two people, you have to use a _lot_ more dialogue tags. And there are _five_ Titans, as you know. Writing tip: dialogue tags should be used as sparingly as possible. And try not to overuse 'said'! A thesaurus is your best friend while editing.


	2. Chapter 2: The Haunt

Author's Note: I've been working on this practically non-stop. I think I'm a little obsessed. Anyway, Chapter 1 mostly followed the show word-for-word, but this chapter is entirely my own creation. Hope you like it. As always, constructive criticism is very welcome.

* * *

By Slade's command, Robin deactivated his communicator so the Titans wouldn't be able to track his location.

Slade had led Robin to a tall mirror and instructed him to strip. Unable to do anything else, he obeyed.

"The mask, too."

Robin clenched his teeth. Not the mask…

"Didn't I give you an order?" Slade asked severely.

Grudgingly he raised his hands to his face, looking at himself in the mirror. With the mask gone, Slade would be able to read him like a book. Someone once told him… someone important… that his eyes showed every emotion he was feeling, giving away all information whether he wanted them to or not.

He peeled off the mask, revealing the cavernous blue eyes he rarely looked at. Immediately, like that important person did say, he could see a flash of grief in them. He looked away, tossing the domino mask to the floor.

"Turn around."

Swallowing, he did his very best to call on his emotions of hatred for Slade, hoping his eyes would show that instead of the fear he was feeling. He turned, and caught the uniform in his hands.

"Put that on."

Robin dared not look into his enemy's stern eye; he feared what he would see, or, rather, what Slade would see in _him_. He did as he was told, pulling on the uniform, the gloves, the steel-toed boots, the metal plates, which were heavier than they looked.

Slade came forward and waved a utility belt in his hand. "You'll receive this when it's time for your missions." Then he picked up the mask from the floor. "…And you'll get this back once you start showing some respect."

Robin looked back into the mirror. Over the orange and black, a metal "S" was pinned over his heart. Slade's symbol.

 _No_ , he thought. _I don't belong to you_.

"I know it seems bad now, but trust me: you'll learn to like it."

Slade stepped away, leaving. Robin could no longer look at himself, so he looked down at his feet, until he started beneath a hand on his shoulder.

"This way," said a soft female voice. Being under the spotlight, he couldn't make out her appearance. She began for a door on the west side of the room.

The hallway was lit in fluorescence, and Robin watched her high auburn ponytail sway as they walked. She was taller than him, and dressed entirely in black.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I work for Slade."

"Why?"

She scoffed and turned around, revealing vivid golden brown eyes and a smirking mouth.

"None of your business. Go around asking questions like that around here with such nonchalance, and you'll get really hurt, really fast."

Robin resisted the urge to turn his maskless face away from her. He guessed from her appearance she was just a bit older than him. Pivoting on her heel, she strode with long legs down the hallway once more.

"Can I at least ask where we're going?"

She stopped. "Here." Motioning towards an electric steel door, she pulled out a card from her belt and swiped it through what must have been a computer interface of some sort on the wall, and the door slid open.

Robin went in. Inside were a neatly made bed and a small bathroom off to the side. Not much else. The walls and floor were cement and gray, and the room was dimly lit by a couple of lights on the wall.

"This is where you will stay when you're not training or completing your missions," she explained. The softness of her voice betrayed her strict demeanor. She turned to go.

"Wait!"

"I suggest you get some sleep while you can. I'm told your training begins tomorrow morning, and it's already past midnight. So rest up, apprentice." With that, she left, the steel door sliding shut behind her.

Robin assumed he was locked in. Still, he trod softly over to the door, to the side of which was a clock, a numbered keypad, an 'enter' button, and a 'cancel' button. He pressed enter, but nothing happened. He guessed it would only open with the correct code.

Sighing, he made his way over to the bed, removed the metal plates from his uniform, and plopped down on the mattress. Part of him was screaming, _What are you doing!?_ But the practical side of him knew nothing could be done, and the best thing he could do in this situation was to go to sleep.

But sleep did not come. The creaking of the gears and cogs kept him awake, along with his own thoughts. He tossed and turned, mind racing with everything that had happened, with what to do.

 _There's nothing that can be done_ , he told himself. _Even if you could defeat him in combat, you don't know how to deactivate the trigger to the nanoscopic probes._

 _First I need to figure out how Slade got the probes inside them,_ Robin decided. _Then maybe with that information I can figure something out._ Relaxing a bit, he closed his eyes.

* * *

Robin awoke to a shift in the air; the door to his new room had slid open. He bolted upwards.

A middle-aged man, who was dressed solely in black like the girl last night, entered with a rolling table, upon which sat a tray of toast and eggs.

"I've been instructed to see to it that you eat your breakfast," he explained indifferently, dragging a spindly chair from the side of the room towards the table. He gestured for Robin to sit.

Robin got up and took his seat without a word, and began eating the tasteless food. If the time did come today where he should indeed discover the method through which the Titans' bodies were flooded with nanoscopic probes, and the method through which he could render their effects null, then Robin wanted the energy he needed to fight off Slade.

Once Robin was finished, the man in black left.

Robin sat in the chair, chin in his hands, tapping his foot anxiously. Over the next hour he looked at the clock by the door twice: not even 6 a.m. yet.

As time passed, he realized he was growing angry. But not at Slade—he was angry with himself. _How could I let myself fall for this kind of trap?_ After pacing for a while, trying to burn off his pent-up resentment, he began placing the metal plates back onto his uniform when the door opened again.

It was the girl with the auburn hair again, though this time it was down and covering half her face. "Time for training," she announced, making her way over to Robin. She crouched to pick up the last metal plate on the floor. "You and I will be heading over to the south side of the Haunt. There's a room there Slade wants us to use."

"The Haunt?"

She grinned. "It's what Slade calls this whole place."

"You're training with me?" he asked, somewhat surprised. Although she was tall, she was very thin and didn't appear to be very strong.

"Yes," she replied, placing the last plate on Robin's upper arm. Her hands were very cold. Her gaze met his, and her one visible eye was witty. "I may not be very strong, but I _am_ fast. Probably faster than you."

"We'll see," Robin almost sneered, despite himself. _What are you doing?_ he thought, _This is no time to be getting competitive…_

She chuckled softly. "Now _that's_ more like the Robin I've heard about." Robin regretted saying anything. _This is no game._ He scowled.

"Follow me."

As they made their way towards the south end of the Haunt, Robin wondered where Slade was, but dared not ask.

"So, what do I call you?" he ventured.

"Oh, right, how rude of me," she said with mild sarcasm. "Call me Z."

Z switched on the industrial lights in the south room, revealing a generally deserted floor. Steel beams criss-crossed close to the ceiling.

"Your goal is to land three hits on me," she instructed, removing her black jacket to reveal a sleeveless top. She tossed the jacket to the side of the room and tied her long hair into a low ponytail with a ribbon. In the better light, Robin could see she was pale and freckles were sprinkled across her cheeks and nose.

 _Easy_ , Robin thought with confidence. _What is this supposed to prove?_

"On my mark." The teens readied themselves, Robin crouching slightly, leaning in her direction. He grimaced, anger building again, angry with _her_ for drawing out his competitive nature.

"Go!"

Robin leaped forward and threw a potent hook. Too potent; Z hopped back and before he could regain his balance, she clutched his shoulder and shoved him away, though she wasn't able to shove him very far.

Hit after hit she dodged, shifting away like a shadow in back-flips and back-springs. At least fifteen minutes had passed. Robin could hardly believe her dexterity; was she _faster_ than Slade? Before Slade revealed the trap he set for Robin, Robin had at least managed to land a few blows on him.

"Are you faster than Slade?"

She snorted with mirth, as if the presumption was ludicrous. "Ha! _No_! Not even close."

Robin felt a new rage rise in his stomach at the understanding: he had only landed blows on Slade because Slade had _let_ him.

With a cry of fury, Robin launched a kick at Z. Missed again. Jab, jab, hook, uppercut—all missed.

Z giggled. Her laughter just angered Robin more. He threw a punch, aiming for Z, but hit the cement wall instead. He turned towards her ducking form, his breathing heavy, more from emotion than from physical weariness.

"You can't let your anger control you," she said seriously.

 _She's right_ , Robin realized. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself and massaging his fist. _Be cold and hard like steel. Focus on tactics._

Plan in mind, he rocketed towards her, arm pulled back as if to punch, but then weaved around her, to her surprise, launching himself off the wall, and leaping for his target: the ribbon in her hair.

The ribbon slipped off completely, and he sprung away from her. At once the auburn hair encroached upon the sides of her face until her right eye was covered once more due to her deep side part. She tucked it hurriedly behind her ear, but when she dodged Robin's next punch, it dislodged and as he flipped past her, the hair blinded her.

 _Now!_ The kick connected with her chest and Z was propelled backwards, landing hard on the floor with a grunt.

"There."

She rose, smiling. "Good, apprentice."

After that it wasn't very difficult for Robin to land two more blows; he just had to make her twist so her hair would sway across her face. A final uppercut knocked her away.

"Well," Z began, rubbing her jaw and dusting off her clothes, "You got me."

"Impressive," Slade's voice echoed into the room. Robin clenched his teeth and turned towards the doorway where his nemesis stood. "I figured it would take you a few hours, but you did it in just under one. Well done, Robin."

The compliment didn't feel good. Rather, it formed a knot in his stomach. He remained silent, glaring at the man.

"You will continue training with the girl until noon." Slade left.

Both individuals were drenched in sweat when noon came, and bruises were beginning to color Z's arms where she blocked many of Robin's blows. They were interrupted by the middle-aged man in black.

"Ah, lunch," Z confirmed, wiping her brow and retreating towards the door where the rolling table awaited them. Robin followed.

"Thanks, Jasper. This looks delicious," she said appreciatively, picking up a tray in each hand. "Here." She handed one to Robin. It contained a pita stuffed with cold cuts and cheese, and an apple.

The two sat on the floor and began eating. Jasper cast Z a questioning look. She nodded at him, and he left.

Robin directed a miserable look at the food; he really had no appetite and had to force the dry sandwich down his throat. "'Delicious'?"

"Mhmm." She swallowed, and then whispered, "I just tell the guy that to make him feel appreciated. God knows it's the only kind word he'll get around here."

Robin noticed the contusions on her arms. "Sorry," he said sincerely.

She lifted a brow. "For what?"

He gestured to her discolored skin.

She looked down at her arms and snickered. "I think I can handle a couple bruises." She crunched into her apple.

Robin felt uncomfortable in the silence. "So… he works for Slade, too?"

"Oh, Jasper the cook? Going on about twenty years now, I heard. He was here when I was ten."

" _Ten_?" Robin repeated incredulously.

"Yep," she responded, her mouth full.

A moment passed, and Robin grasped that she didn't wish to comment further, so he didn't ask any more questions throughout the remainder of their meal.

* * *

When one o'clock came, Slade led Robin to a different room on the south side of the Haunt, this one deep and filled with various targets of varying shapes and sizes, all at varying distances. Now separated from her, Robin realized he preferred Z's company to that of Slade.

Slade walked up to Robin and reached around him.

"What are you—" Robin recoiled as Slade clasped the utility belt around Robin's waist, their faces unnervingly close.

"Now," he said calmly, "In that belt I have provided you with mostly weapons and tools you're used to. With my design input, of course."

Robin inspected the items in and on the belt: his retractable bo-staff, a cordage with metal balls he recognized as his bola, lockpicks, a grapple, a mini supercomputer for hacking systems, and three types of discs—flash, smoke, and explosive. He cradled the staff in his hands. It felt comforting… familiar, in a place where nothing was familiar except his hatred for Slade.

He tightened his grip on the staff, and looked at Slade's mask, but not meeting his one eye. "Aren't you afraid I'll use these against you?"

"Afraid? No. I think you forget the trigger I have here on my wrist." He poised a finger over the button.

Robin outstretched a palm towards the device in a pleading motion as his heart leaped into his throat. "Don't!"

"Then we won't be asking any more foolish questions, will we?"

Robin slumped.

The entire afternoon he practiced as Slade instructed, using various combinations of his weapons and tools to destroy the targets. By the time dinner came, he was exhausted. Secretly he hoped for Z's company at dinner, but Jasper accompanied him to his room and served him his meal.

Robin sat before the steak and potatoes, uninterested.

"You must eat," Jasper said flatly.

Silence.

"If you don't eat, I am to inform Slade."

Robin emitted a growl and began to eat angrily. The steak was overcooked and the potatoes too starchy. Once finished, he slammed down his fork and pushed the rolling table back over to Jasper with more force than he intended.

Jasper looked up at him. "I'm just doing my job," he said defensively, then resumed his usual monotone voice. "Try not to take it personally." He left.

Robin stood. _'Try not to take it personally'?_ Everything _about this is personal_ , he thought, tearing the metal armor plates from his uniform and hurling them at the wall. He pressed his back against the door, inhaling deeply. With a sigh, he sank down to the floor, arms folded over his knees, his head resting on his forearms.

He didn't know how long he sat there. An hour, maybe? Rising, he stripped and stepped into the small shower. The hot water steamed off his skin, and he lost himself in the simple numbing pleasure of it.

Stepping out, he noticed a towel had been placed on a table. He dried off, and eyed the fresh uniform in the doorless closet, its metal "S" gleaming in the dim light.

Reluctantly he put it on; honestly, he'd rather sleep nude, but he preferred whoever came in in the morning didn't see him naked. He felt naked enough without his mask.

The next few days progressed like the first, and the aching in Robin's body gradually declined as he presumed he was gaining more stamina. Agility training with Z, which he actually didn't mind too much, and then weapons training with Slade. With Slade he mostly kept silent, and to Robin's displeasure, Slade seemed pleased with him, praising his performance quite often.

Robin often wondered what would happen should he try to seize the trigger to the probes and rip it off Slade's arm. _Surely that would nullify the trigger_ , he thought. But what if Slade was too fast? Then the Titans would be doomed, he figured. Slade would _not_ tolerate something like that from him.

* * *

"Agh!" A swift kick to Robin's side sent him sprawling. He had been lost in thought again.

Z wore a worried look as she approached Robin, offering him her hand. "Why do you keep letting me hit you?" she asked genuinely as Robin rose, refusing her help.

The door opened. Jasper, with lunch.

Once alone together, Robin spoke. "You mentioned before that you worked for Slade when you were ten years old. Can you… tell me anything about that?"

Z gazed far away, considering. "I suppose." She sighed thoughtfully. "Well, my father was a drug lord, and my mother a prostitute. They met through… her work," she began.

Robin nodded, understanding.

Her brow furrowed defensively. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you feel sorry for me. I don't want or need anyone's sympathy," she said stubbornly.

"Who said I felt sorry for you?"

"I see it in your eyes," she insisted.

Robin felt his ears grow hot. He almost forgot he had no mask. A thought flashed through his mind of that certain someone, but he shook it away. "Sorry about that. You can continue if you want."

Z surveyed him cautiously. "Nah," she decided. "Think I'll pass."

Jasper soon returned to take the trays. He cast Robin a glace. "You're to come with me." Robin followed silently.

"Wait! Here." Z handed him a small, round, lidded container.

"What's this?"

"Hair gel," she smiled. "You've been looking a bit flat lately without it. Your hair, I mean. I quite like the spiked-back look."

Robin almost chuckled. "Thanks." He followed Jasper out the door.

"See you tomorrow, maybe," Z called as he left.

"Why are we heading to the west wing?" Robin asked.

"Slade instructs that you get some sleep," Jasper explained. "You're going on a mission tonight."

Robin entered his room. He made his way over to the mirror above the sink and looked at his reflection. _It does look flat_ , he noted. After a quick shower, he gelled his hair into backward spikes, and looked in the mirror again. _Much better._

Pulling on a fresh uniform, he wondered what this mission might entail. Abruptly his heart skipped a beat. _The Titans will most likely arrive_ , he realized, hope swelling in his chest. But it quickly diminished. _How will I tell them without Slade knowing that I'm telling them?_

He sighed dismally and climbed into his bed. _I'll figure something out_ , he promised himself, more for himself than for anyone else. _I must._

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

For those of you whom are super into DC Comics, you'll probably already know who this 'important person' in Robin's past is.

I _scoured_ the internet for descriptions of Robin's eye color. Pretty much every source pointed to blue, so I stuck to that.

"Jab, jab, hook, uppercut…" This is a traditional boxing combo. I know this from doing a series of workouts created from a combination of kickboxing, martial arts, and dance.


	3. Chapter 3: The Diamond Parlor

Author's Note: I'm really interested in what you think, reader. Do Robin and Slade seem canon so far? Are the characters engaging? Does the dialogue feel natural and flowing? What do you like about this story so far? What do you not like? Let me know in a review if you desire.

* * *

Robin hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until the door slid open, revealing Slade's foreboding figure. Robin bolted upright.

"Get ready," Slade instructed him.

Obediently Robin got up and pulled on his gloves, boots, and put on his metal plates. How had he slept for so long? He wanted to kick himself for failing to come up with a plan.

"You're going to meet a client of mine tonight. Your job is to send a message."

"What message?"

"Arrive at the Diamond Parlor no later than 9 p.m. You will tell the greeter you're there to see Gary Olsen on behalf of Deathstroke, and that Gary is expecting you. He should take you to the office on the second floor. Once you're more or less alone, tell Gary that his time is up, and that he knows what he needs to do."

"That's all?" _I guess the Titans won't be coming after all_.

"Hmm. You might have to get a bit rough, as Gary is known to be obstinate, but I don't want to hear about any serious injury. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Oh. And an associate of mine will go with you."

"Z?"

"I said _associate_ , not servant. You'll meet him out there. Come."

Entering the hallway, they began for the main room of the Haunt until Slade turned around, pulling something from his belt.

"You've been obedient and civil these past few days, apprentice," he said in a pleased voice, holding up Robin's domino mask. "This is for you."

Robin took it and hurriedly put it on without thanks.

Entering the room with the never-ending creaking of the gears, Robin heard a voice from the shadows. "Ah, so this is Deathstroke's apprentice," it hissed.

The man stepped forward into what little light there was. He was tall and athletically built, but not as tall or as built as Slade, and wore a uniform of gray and indigo. He had shoulder-length black hair, and within his goatee was a sneering mouth.

"'Deathstroke'?"

Slade's one eye looked down at Robin. "My alias," he clarified, then moved his gaze to his associate. "Welcome, Nightburn. I do hope your recent travels have been pleasant."

"Pleasant indeed," the man called Nightburn replied politely, looking Robin up and down with a strange smile.

Robin suddenly felt self-conscious. There was something about Nightburn he decided he didn't like.

Slade walked away momentarily. Nightburn's murky eyes settled on Robin's mask. "Quite the handsome uniform," he complimented.

"Thanks," Robin said flatly.

Slade returned with what looked like an electric drill, except a large needle protruded from the end.

"Give me your arm," Slade said.

Robin swallowed, extending his arm timidly. Normally he didn't have much problem with needles, but this one was _huge._ He winced as Slade punctured his skin and pushed the thing deeply into the muscle below his wrist, and then pressed a button that injected something that was even more painful. Robin resisted the urge to cry out.

Slade pulled it out, and a large drop of blood quickly streamed down his arm. Slade pulled out a large cotton ball and pressed it firmly to the area.

"What did you do?"

"Injected a small…computer. It will also function as your tracker." Robin didn't like the idea.

"And take this. I will give you instructions if needed." Robin took the earpiece, the metal "S" on it gleaming in the dim light.

The two men continued with some small talk, something about Nightburn's wife and his daughter recovering from bronchitis.

Robin was amazed. How could two horrible people—well, he assumed Nightburn was just as horrible as Slade—have normal conversations like normal people? Have families like normal people?

"And how is your son? It's been a long time since…" Nightburn trailed off.

Slade pulled away from Robin, having stopped his bleeding. Robin felt something change in Slade's demeanor.

"Do _not_ mention my family in front of my apprentice," he boomed darkly, taking a step towards his affiliate.

"Oh… my apologies," came the quick repentant answer.

Robin's mouth dropped open, incredulous. _Slade has a_ son _?_ Robin didn't exactly think Slade the type of person to be a family man. _Hell, no._

"Nightburn will visually record your performance and assist you if necessary," Slade said, and Robin saw Nightburn tap a small dot on his chest he presumed to be a hidden camera.

"Now, go. You have three hours."

* * *

The car ride to their destination was awkward. Nightburn kept trying to start a conversation, but Robin wasn't interested, and so answered solely in "yes" or "no".

Nightburn sighed. "We're here."

Robin emerged from the car and looked up. "Diamond Parlor" was written in neon cursive above the dark doorway, from which pounding hip-hop music reverberated, and at which a greeter stood like Slade had said. Nightshade and Robin approached the tuxedoed man.

"Good evening sirs. How may I help you?"

"We're here on behalf of Deathstroke," Robin said. "We wish to see Gary Olsen. He's expecting us."

"Apologies, sirs," he said. "Follow me."

Robin followed and looked around. It was a club on the left side, a casino on the right, with cigarette smoke permeating the air. Scantily clad women were dancing beneath the blinding colored lights; men were gathered at a stage upon which a busty girl was swaying her hips side to side, shadows dancing on her naked breasts. He felt uncomfortable; he didn't belong in this kind of place.

They followed the greeter past various small rooms with sheer rose curtains, behind which Robin saw out the corner of his eye two dancers on their knees before a man who moaned on the bench. He hastily looked away.

The greeter led them to an elevator. As it hummed, Robin felt a hand brush his bottom. He started, and eyed Nightburn guardedly.

"What's the matter?" his eyes were gleaming wickedly. "Don't like it here?"

"Don't touch me again," he said in a low voice, his warning clear. Nightburn just chuckled.

They were led down a hallway to a door in front of which two guards stood.

"Gary is expecting these gentlemen," the greeter said. The guards nodded and motioned them inside.

A small, round, balding man threw up his hands in greeting. "Hey!" he welcomed them joyously. Robin noted white residue beneath his nostril and a fifty-dollar bill curled on his desk.

One of the bulky guards entered behind them. Another guard stood behind Gary. Robin stepped toward the little man's desk.

"Wait! Don't tell me…" he slurred. "…uhm… you're Slade's, right?"

 _No_ , he thought. "Yes."

"Aah," he seemed pleased, rubbing his hands together. "But you're so young!"

Robin said nothing.

"Hmm… I _swear_ I've seen you before, though," he mused. "I don't suppose this is about the late shipment?"

"I'm here to—" Robin stopped as the man gasped dramatically.

" _Robin_!" he cried in amazement. "Yes, it's Robin, the leader of the Teen Titans, isn't it?"

Robin gritted his teeth.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch! Finally got sick of ordering other kids around, eh? Ready to _be_ ordered around, I reckon. A change of sorts. Is that how it is?"

Anger simmered in his belly. _Focus on the mission_ , he told himself. "I'm just here to deliver a message. You know what you need to do."

"Do I?" Gary clasped his hands behind his neck and looked up at the ceiling. "Hmm… you might have to spell it out for me."

"Sorry, I'm not well-versed in the criminal dialect or alphabet."

"Mm. You wouldn't be, would you?" Gary responded matter-of-factly, pouring an amber liquid into a glass filled with ice. He took a gulp and sighed. "You're no fun."

"Tell him his time is up," Slade commanded through the earpiece impatiently. "Intimidate him."

Robin leaned over the desk into Gary's face. "Your _time_ is _up_ ," he said threateningly.

Gary smiled. "Is it, now?" His bottom teeth were gray, his gums swollen.

Robin's swift uppercut knocked the man back into his chair with such force that it tipped over onto its back. The drink spilled and the glass shattered.

The two guards made a move towards Robin and Nightburn.

"Fight," Slade directed. He must have given the same command to Nightburn as well, for Nightburn whipped out a rather large switchblade and swiped at the third guard who had entered after hearing the crash.

Robin hopped back to avoid an incoming kick from the smaller guard, whose leg he seized and threw him into the other guard. Gary had gotten up and was running towards a fire escape door.

"Go after him," Slade's voice boomed in Robin's ear.

Robin leaped over the desk, through the open door and grabbed Gary's collar, pulling him back to face him. Gary gasped as Robin slammed his back against the low railing, his torso hanging over.

"D-don't! Uh…"

"Then do what you need to do," Robin said menacingly.

"Fine! Fine!"

"Leave together via the fire escape," Slade commanded. "The car is two blocks down, straight ahead."

Robin fled, and saw Nightburn close behind him. Then he heard a gunshot _clang_ off the metal pole to his left.

He gasped suddenly as he felt the intense acute burn of the second shot penetrate his shoulder blade. Racing away, he heard Gary's voice distantly, "Don't _shoot_ at him, you idiot! Do you want to get me _killed?!_ "

Robin's scapula was ablaze as his back hit the backseat of the car. The black vehicle sped away. Robin clutched his shoulder.

" _Shit_ , you're hit?" Nightburn inquired breathlessly.

"I'll be alright," Robin assured him half-heartedly. He had faced enemies with bullets a few times before, but he had never been hit. The wound was on fire, and he felt the hot wetness of blood seep into the back of his uniform.

Nightburn scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. It's almost an hour back to the Haunt. I can put pressure—"

"I'm _fine_ ," he insisted through clenched teeth.

The black-haired man shrugged. "Suit yourself."

* * *

Robin wondered if he had made a mistake in not letting Nightburn put pressure on his wound as he practically staggered out of the car, dizziness marring his vision. He wondered how much blood he had lost. Or maybe it was just the pain that was making him lightheaded.

The car drove away, and Slade appeared. Robin did his best to straighten.

"Excellent work, Robin," he said, gesturing for Robin to hand him his earpiece and his utility belt, which he did. "Head to the infirmary in the east wing. Z is waiting for you."

Robin stumbled a bit down the hallway to where he saw light beaming from an open room that he assumed was the infirmary. He went in.

Z, who was seated before what looked like an operating table, looked up and stood. "There you are."

Behind her was a tray with various medical instruments. Robin lifted a brow. "You have medical experience?"

"More or less," she responded confidently. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Nonetheless, he walked in to the freezing cold room as steadily as he could.

"Where are you hit?" she asked.

"Left shoulder blade."

"Well, that's lucky," she said smoothly, coming over to Robin and removing the metal plates on his upper half. She gently touched the bloodstained uniform. "How long has it been? Since you were hit?"

"Uh… about an hour."

"Mm. Shouldn't wait that long." Z unzipped the uniform down to Robin's waist, and quietly pulled off his sleeves and pulled the garment down. "Lie on your front, arms down, please," she indicated to the table.

Robin hopped onto the table with the help of his good right arm. He rested his head on the small pillow, inhaling deeply as Z pulled on a pair of sterile gloves.

Z inspected the wound, a cold hand on his chiseled back. Robin sucked in a breath as he felt even colder metal enter his skin, probing for the bullet.

"Breathe," she said gently. "It's not that deep. Like I said, you're lucky you got hit where you did."

Robin tried to breathe deeply. "Doesn't… doesn't feel very lucky…" he managed. "Don't you have any… local anesthetic?" He almost felt childish for asking.

Z sighed. "I've been instructed not to use it."

"Instructed by Slade," he deducted.

She nodded bleakly.

"What is he, a sadist?" Robin heard the _clack_ of the bullet in a metal dish and felt a small wave of relief.

"Could be." She delicately used sterile wipes to clean the blood off his back, and Robin winced as she suffused what he assumed was a sterilizing agent into the bullet wound. "You can sit now."

Gratefully he pushed himself into a sitting position on the table. He still felt a bit woozy. "Thanks, Z. I think—"

"We're not done yet," she interrupted.

"Oh, right. Where are your bandages?" he asked, looking around but seeing none.

"Don't need them," she replied softly, removing her gloves and gently pressing a cold hand to the injured shoulder blade.

"What—" Robin felt her hand grow hot, and the heat permeated his skin. Not the burning pain, though; this was quite pleasant.

"I guess I forgot to mention my abilities to you."

 _Is she_ healing _me?_ Robin was disbelieving. "No way…"

"Yes way," she smiled, her golden brown eyes sparkling with pride. "Just relax."

Robin closed his eyes. The heat continued for about five minutes as he sat in silence, listening to her breathing softly, before it dissipated.

"There. All done."

He rolled his shoulders back, feeling no pain. "It doesn't hurt! I can't believe you did that. How…?"

"I don't know," she shrugged with a self-assured grin. "I've had these powers ever since I can remember."

"You'd be a great candidate for—" Robin halted himself. _An honorary Teen Titan_ , he thought.

She looked surprised. "For what?"

"…Never mind." His voice was cross. _A servant of Slade could never be a Titan._

Then another thought flashed in his mind. _Well, look at_ yourself.

Vaguely he recognized an irate sound escaping his throat and saw the rolling tray of medical tools hit the wall. He had kicked it.

Z had paced backwards, her palms raised, eyes wide with trepidation. "What did I do?" she asked timidly.

Robin's anger dissipated. He hadn't meant to cause her any anxiety. "Nothing," he said flatly, getting up and heading towards the door.

He turned to Z before leaving. "Really though… thank you." Robin disappeared into the dark hallway.

* * *

The next day, Robin left his room and headed for his morning training session, alone. It seemed walking to training without an escort and eating without supervision were all privileges he'd acquired through his obedience. Secretly he was livid with himself for not putting up more of a fight.

 _But I can't_ , he thought miserably. _Not without putting the Titans in danger_.

He entered the dark room without looking at her. "Morning, Z." When he switched on the lights, his heart rate quickened. It was Slade, not Z.

"Z won't be training with you in the mornings anymore," he said coolly. Somewhere inside himself Robin was a bit disappointed. He had grown accustomed to and even appreciative of her company during the past several days of his captivity.

"Today you and I will be training up there," he pointed at the criss-crossing beams above their heads. "You need to work on your balance."

Robin climbed the metal rungs built into the wall and clambered up onto the steel network; the beams were no wider than eight inches each. He was about ten feet off the ground.

The training proved to be very challenging; Robin fell from the system at least a dozen times, though it was usually on his feet. During the first half of the day, it was all Robin could do to just keep his balance and dodge Slade's barrage of attacks.

Lunch break. Robin, saturated with sweat, gulped down water from his bottle. Jasper brought his meal as usual, during which Slade left, Robin presumed, to eat by himself. After all, eating would require him to remove his mask.

The second half of the day was exactly the same, and Robin was exhausted by the time six o'clock came. And he knew that Slade wasn't even using his full strength and agility.

"That's enough for one day. Go to your room," Slade instructed.

Robin entered his room, where a lonely tray of food was waiting. He ate, showered, put on a fresh uniform, and crawled into bed.

He lost track of the days as they passed; they seemed to be blurring together. How long had it been now? A week? Two weeks? He hadn't seen Z anywhere for days. _Surely my friends have realized by now that something is amiss_ , he thought hopefully.

When noon came around, Slade told him to rest after eating, for he had a mission that night.

"Hopefully it's something a bit more challenging than my last 'mission'," he said cynically.

Slade's left gray eye looked down at Robin. "Indeed, it is." Robin thought he sensed a smile beneath the metal mask and instantly internally recoiled, wishing he had said nothing.

"Surely your former friends will be there once you break in."

Robin swallowed.

* * *

Using the mini supercomputer, Robin hacked into the neighboring building's security and made his way to the roof. The night was beautiful; stars were sprinkled across the sky like a twinkling mist and the moon was full, providing him with enough light so that he could judge how far to leap onto the rounded tower he was targeting.

He tumbled across it, and located the square hatch in the roof that led to the room inside the top floor. He grappled down, as the ceiling was high. The only light aside from the moonlight came from his objective; the thermal blaster was encapsulated within a beam of light.

Nimbly he hurled a GE disc—another "S" disc that had both grappling and explosive capabilities—at the door to the blaster. He shielded his eyes as the explosion blasted open the container, and then waded through the smoke and rubble to pick it up.

"Good, Robin," Slade's voice rang through Robin's earpiece.

He heard distant alarmed voices: "He's stolen the thermal blaster!" "Stop him!"

Robin retreated to the outdoor walkway, which ran widely the whole way around the tower. Evading energy blasts from the guns of the guards that chased him, he sprinted out of sight and scrambled down the side of the walkway where he gripped the metal outcroppings. He heard the guards slow to a stop.

"Where'd he go?"

Robin listened as their footsteps faded away, into the building, he supposed.

Climbing back up, he scuttled in the direction the guards had come.

Just then, the Teen Titans emerged from the shadows and blocked his path.

"Freeze!" Cyborg barked.

Robin darted to the right of them, along a wide bridge-like footpath that led to… a wall. He skidded to a stop, steeled himself, and turned around to face his friends.

"That's not Slade," Beast Boy said unbelievingly. "That's—"

"Robin!" Starfire cried.

"Whoa!"

"No way!"

"Robin, why are you—" Starfire began, but Robin cut her off with a toss of an explosive disc, careful that it landed a few feet away from her. Still, the force from the blast knocked her backwards, and she landed on her side with a grunt.

Cyborg clenched his fists. "Yo—"

"What is your _deal_?" Beast Boy demanded.

"Not a word, Robin," Slade whispered in his ear, "They're not your friends anymore."

 _Yes they are!_

The Titans dashed towards him. Robin aimed for the bridge between them, and fired the thermal blaster. A dangerously hot beam hit the walkway and it exploded. He heard Beast Boy shriek, and Cyborg shout, "What are you _doing_!?"

The rubble smoked intensely, and Robin essentially vanished from their eyes, leaping away onto another rooftop. He took advantage of their surprise by fleeing while he could. He honestly didn't feel he had the emotional strength to fight them. At least not at the present moment.

* * *

Robin observed Slade's shadowy figure standing next to a computer screen that he assumed controlled the large screens in the enormous central room of the Haunt. It was mostly dark. He approached Slade, offering the blaster, his mouth forming a tight line.

"Excellent, Robin. I'm pleased. You're already proving to be the perfect apprentice."

"This… _deal_ can't last forever," Robin ventured. His pent-up resentment was leaking.

"It can. And it will." The screens lit up in white, booting up. Robin turned towards them. Snow flashed, and then a video clip displayed the fake chronoton detonator collapsing in on itself.

"The Titans still have no idea that my chronoton detonator was more than a decoy," Slade said darkly.

Various video clips flashed on the screen: the Titans facing the detonator, a small gun that fired red energy blasts, propelling each Titan into the water of the sewer Robin had been in only two weeks ago.

 _So that's how Slade infected them with the probes_ , he thought.

"Now that my probes are inside their bodies… they could remain undetected for years… _decades_ …"

The screens blanched.

"…Unless, of course, you disobey me…" Slade ambled over to Robin. "…and I decide to destroy your… _former_ friends… with the push of a button." He held out his wrist for Robin to see the trigger.

 _Not 'former'!_ Robin had grown more than sick and tired of listening to Slade's declaration that Robin no longer had any friends. After days of hardening himself, his anger was rising in his throat again.

"Sooner or later, you'll let your guard down," he said deliberately. "I _will_ get that controller. In the _instant_ they're out of danger… _you will pay_." His heart raced.

"That sounds like a threat, young man," Slade said in a slightly raised voice, but then lowered it as he took the thermal blaster from Robin's hand and walked past him. "Quite a good threat, actually." His footsteps stopped. He was close. "Betrayal. Destruction. Revenge… We really _do_ think alike."

Robin snapped. He leaped for Slade's arm with a mad roar and… _just_ missed. Slade had been anticipating his retaliation, he realized in that instant; he was _trying_ to coax him into a fight. Robin found himself dangling by his left arm, which Slade clutched tightly, twisting it back.

"I monitored your vital signs during the mission," he said calmly. "Elevated heart rate… adrenaline… endorphins…"

Robin struggled to get free, but to no avail; Slade just pulled his arm with more force until Robin thought his shoulder would come out of its socket.

"…You won't admit it, but at some level… you _enjoyed_ stealing for me."

His throat emitted a strangled animalistic sound.

"It was a _thrill_ , wasn't it?"

Finally he let go, letting Robin stumble forward. He massaged the offended arm.

Slade turned back to his computer interface with the thermal blaster. "You're going to _keep_ stealing, Robin. And you're going to keep getting that thrill. And sooner or later… you _will_ see things my way." He turned towards Robin again, having tinkered with the weapon.

"Who knows…" he began, pacing over to Robin and attaching the blaster to his right arm, "…I might even become like a father to you."

Robin blinked and bit his lip to prevent it from quivering.

 _I already have a father._

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

I figured DC Comics fans would appreciate the inclusion of Slade's alias, Deathstroke, and the mentioning of his son. I first saw Teen Titans as a young teenager, at which time I had no idea Slade was known as anything else but Slade. I only found out about _Deathstroke_ just this year as I began re-watching the series and conducting research out of curiosity.

Note Robin's amazement that Slade and Nightburn have 'normal' conversations like 'normal' people. Robin is still a teenager, so I supposed it made sense that he wouldn't realize that 'bad' people have 'normal' things in their lives just like 'good' people. In reality, even seemingly evil people have people or things that they care about; that's what makes villains/antagonists interesting (writing tip).

The scene with Gary Olsen was slightly inspired by a scene from the movie _Road to Perdition_. It deals with a family whose father (Tom Hanks) has ties to crime bosses and the like, and must escape to save his son. Excellent movie, but you should probably be at least sixteen to watch it; it's quite mature.


	4. Chapter 4: On the Roof

Author's Note: So in this chapter we get more Robin/Titans action, and Robin recognizes changes occurring within himself. And I know most of you probably don't care for OCs (original characters), so I did my best to make Z interesting and engaging. She goes through quite a bit of character development in this chapter, along with Robin. Enjoy.

* * *

As the weeks passed, Slade began allowing Robin to spend time on the roof of the Haunt when he wasn't training or when he didn't feel like sleeping. The crisp night air invigorated him, but also reminded him of how he longed to be outdoors. _Like playing volleyball on the roof of the Tower with Cyborg and Beast Boy and_ … he shook the thought away.

Robin began noting patterns in himself, most notably that he could only sleep soundly without nightmares after completing a mission, usually to steal some sort of weapon from some heavily guarded facility. This quite bothered him; it was almost as if he had begun to welcome his missions. Maybe even _like_ them.

Memories of certain comments Slade had made flashed through his mind. _You'll learn to like it… on some level… you_ enjoyed _stealing for me._

Robin tossed and turned in his bed vehemently.

 _It was a_ thrill, _wasn't it?_

He kicked the sheets away heatedly, got up, and went to the clock: early evening. _Almost time for tonight's mission._ He paced back and forth across the room. _I wish I could blow off some stream and train right now…_

He stopped.

 _What?_ Had he actually thought that? Training meant Slade's company. How could he possibly _want_ something like that?

But he _did_ , he realized with shock. Not for his captor's company necessarily, but just for the satisfaction of blowing up the targets as specified, back-flipping and landing soundly on the steel beams below the ceiling in the south room, and so forth. Training reminded him that he still had his abilities—which were actually improving under Slade's guidance—that he still had _something_. That he hadn't lost everything.

But he was losing control. Blackmail was one thing, but succumbing to these pressures… letting them _mold_ him like clay into something he knew he was not… was entirely another. He had become _reliant_ , and reliant on things only Slade controlled. It made him furious.

Purposefully he pulled on his gloves and boots, and then proceeded towards the cement wall. After one punch he decided it wouldn't relieve his pent-up bitterness. _Maybe I'll go up early_ , he thought. _Watch the sunset._

As he trod through the Haunt, he looked for Slade, but saw him nowhere; he was probably in the room Robin assumed to be his office of sorts, in the northwest corner, a place he was never allowed.

Climbing the rungs, he tossed open the door in the ceiling and mounted the roof. As he walked towards the west end, he passed some sort of electrical unit and started at the sight of bent, dark figure.

Z was seated towards the sun, arms clasped around her knees, her head down. When she looked up in surprise, Robin saw her eyes and nose were red. Immediately he felt a pang of remorse.

"I—I'm sorry," he stuttered, stepping backwards, "I didn't mean to invade your privacy."

She sniffed, looking into the sun orange-rimmed sun. "You're not." Her voice was very quiet.

"No, I really—"

"I meant you're not invading my privacy." A corner of her mouth turned upward faintly.

"Oh." Robin stood motionless, feeling awkward, half-wanting to retreat back to his room.

She glanced back up at him. "You can sit."

Robin sat cross-legged, a couple feet away from her to respect her personal space.

"This is my favorite time of day," she said. "Right before sunset, the light turns golden, and it turns everything facing its way to gold."

Robin gazed around at the emptiness that was one of the darker sides of Jump City. Yes, he supposed, the faces of the buildings did indeed look golden. "I guess you're right."

The sun seemed to burst through the air, reaching for them, and gleamed off Z's hair. Robin thought it almost looked like Starfire's.

 _No_ , he commanded himself. _Don't think of her_.

"I haven't seen you in weeks," he said. "What have you—"

It was when Z flipped her hair with a toss of her head that Robin noticed the bruises. They were fingerprints on her arms, dotting her skin with purple and yellow splotches.

"Where did you get those?"

"Huh?"

"The bruises on your arms."

"Oh… I forgot all about that." At once she picked up her long-sleeved black jacket that had been lying beside her, pulling it on and zipping it up. "There, that's better."

"Who did that to you?" He vaguely wondered if Slade sent her on missions as well.

"Really, it's no big deal," she insisted through a nervous chuckle, and Robin noted the blush beneath her freckles. His unmoving gaze insisted she answer him.

Z met his glance. She made a disgusted sound, and looked away again. "Slade gets a bit… rough sometimes."

Robin was mildly astonished. "Why…? Did you… do something to anger him?"

"Uh… not exactly." She shifted her weight uncomfortably, and then sighed in defeat. "We… get together sometimes." Her voice was barely audible, and her face reddened even more.

"What!?" He couldn't hide his horrid bewilderment at the understanding. "He…" Robin lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "He… _rapes_ you?"

"No!" she cried crossly, tightening her grip around herself. "…Well… that's how it started. But it's not… not that way anymore."

Robin was unconvinced. And quickly realized the presence of a newfound, stronger abhorrence for Slade within himself, if such a thing was even possible.

He gritted his teeth. "If I weren't in the position I'm in…"

"But you are," she said simply. "And even if you weren't, what would you do? _I'm_ the one choosing to stay."

Robin wore a pained, sad look. "But… _why?_ "

She shrugged and smiled a fake smile. "I guess I wouldn't know what to do with myself out in the world after all these years. It's kind of hard to leave something behind when it's all you've ever known, you know?"

Robin silently reflected. He supposed he had been lucky all his life compared to Z, despite the deaths of his parents. He had had someone willing to take him in… and then, later, he had had the Teen Titans. Friends. He wondered if Z had ever had any friends at all.

"Before I came up here, I went into his office. He was arguing with someone through his computer. It was just bad timing, really. So when he was done, I made the mistake of trying to… uh… soothe his anger. Long story short, he grabbed me and threw me across the floor. Oh, and he said he wasn't in the mood for a worthless slut like me."

"You are _not_ worthless," Robin said firmly.

Z chuckled bitterly. "But I _am_ a slut."

"Why do you care what he thinks?"

She paused, considering. "I don't know why… all I know for sure is that I do."

Robin was unsure of what to say to that, so he said nothing. He returned his gaze back to the sky.

The sun had flushed into a rosy pink, and its bottom half was settling beneath distant purplish clouds. The air had cooled in the easy silence that had settled between them.

After a time, Z rose. "Well, Robin—may I call you Robin?"

"Please do. I'm not exactly fond of 'apprentice'."

"Well, Robin, thanks for the company." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and emitted a small, ironic laugh before adding, "It's almost like you actually care or something."

"I do," he responded sincerely.

She smiled faintly, but a fragment of sadness crept into her expression. "Try not to; it might land you in trouble one of these days." She began walking away, but before she left, she frowned and somberly added, "I'm bad news, Robin. And you're too nice for a place like this."

* * *

Dread churned in his stomach as Robin tossed an explosive disc at the double doors; when Slade told him he would be stealing from his former mentor's company—Wayne Enterprises—tonight, Robin did his best to maintain a neutral expression, but saw that he had failed, judging from the smile he had heard in Slade's voice.

Wading in through the smoke and rubble, he made his way towards his target, which was encapsulated within a beam of light. Having earlier disarmed Wayne Tower's security system, he reached in and…

"You're not walking out of here, Robin!" Cyborg's voice boomed from the gloomy green room. "Not without a fight."

Robin faced them, his demeanor impassible. _Finally_ , _some_ real _action_.

Multiple thoughts buzzed in his mind all at once. _Those aren't some random guards or crime bosses; those are your_ friends _!_

His body ached for a fight. But did he really want to fight his friends?

He wasn't sure.

And not being able to mentally answer that question with an adamant "No" was more than he could take.

 _I have to get out of here!_

His mind flooding with thoughts of escape, he emitted an enraged yell, bursting towards the Titans at a sprint.

"Titans, _go_!" Cyborg cried.

 _He's replaced you well._

His heart raced as he neared them, mind steeped in depersonalization; his racing legs and pumping arms didn't feel like his own, and his mind felt far away.

Cyborg, as he was so tall, threw a downward hook, which Robin dodged, bounding onto his mechanical back, and leaping forward, past the airborne Starfire and Raven, and towards his objective: the retracted metal ladder by which a sign read "roof hatch access".

Robin grasped a rung and swung feet-first from it, kicking open the door, and landing acrobatically inside a sort of dark crawl space just beneath the roof. Hastily he struck the outermost hatch so it flew off, and clambered up to the roof.

His eyes scanned the roof rapidly: alone. He ran, past the enormous fluorescent letters spelling "Wayne". Maybe he could climb into the window of the neighboring building and…

"Not so fast, Robin. You have yet to achieve your objective," Slade said coolly through Robin's earpiece.

"The device was too heavily guarded," he lied. "I'll have to steal it another—"

" _No_."

Robin skidded to a stop, facing back towards the small door in the roof.

"Go back," Slade commanded. "Unless you want me to destroy them, _go back_ , and fight."

"Robin!" Cyborg shouted. Robin turned around abruptly. The Titans stood before him.

"Look, I don't know what's going on," he began, hands raised defensively and stepping forward, "but we don't want to fight; we just want to talk."

There were no thoughts now—just his fighting instincts. Robin launched a vicious kick at Cyborg's chest, sending him sliding on his back, despite his weight.

"Guess there's nothing to talk about," said Beast Boy in a threatening voice, cracking his knuckles. Rapidly he transformed into an enormous gorilla at least twice Robin's height, and raised his fists above his head with a roar.

Robin somersaulted backwards away from the impact, which seemed to vibrate the entirety of Wayne Tower.

Beast Boy swiped his colossal hands at Robin, who cut away each time. He jumped powerfully backwards onto the cross-section of the letter "A", and then propelled himself into a back-flip, landing on top of it.

The shape-shifting teen hurdled with ease to the top of the "A", aiming to seize Robin within his powerful arms, but just missed.

Now on the right end of the "W", Robin pulled out a GE disc, lassoed it around Beast Boy's arm, and deftly swooped through the center of the "A", towing the gorilla behind him so his massive body became lodged inside the letter.

Robin rose from a crouch as the "A" wobbled and sparked from the impact, facing Starfire.

 _I can't fight her_ , approached the hazy thought.

" _Please_ —" she began earnestly, and then gasped as Robin darted past her towards Raven.

Raven shielded herself with her powers from his brutal kicks and punches, casting black splotches in the air.

Robin sensed a large presence behind him, and ducked to avoid Cyborg's punch from behind, which connected with Raven's black shield.

Just then something struck his side powerfully—ram horns, he noted vaguely—and instantly he was rolling away, almost over the edge of Wayne Tower.

"Dude! Are you okay?" resounded Beast Boy's alarmed voice. Robin waited for him to approach before delivering an unforeseen punch that sent his friend flying into Cyborg, knocking him down.

He sat up into a crouch as the voice reverberated in his ear: "Fight to win, Robin. Use the thermal blaster." Robin touched the heat ray attached to his arm tentatively.

Raven rose into the sky. "Azarath Metrion _Zinthos_!" Immediately a swirling channel of blackness propelled towards Robin and encompassed his torso, lifting him into the air, but his right hand was free, so he hurled a disc at the fluorescent letter beside her. The flash blinded her, and she toppled onto the roof.

"No!" he heard Starfire cry.

Cyborg was back up. Robin threw punches at him, which he blocked with his palms.

"C'mon, man, don't make me do this," he protested, but Robin persisted. "I don't want to do this!" Cyborg grasped his arm then, and aimed a sonic cannon blast at Robin, but Robin swiped a leg beneath him, effectively knocking him off his feet.

The force of the cannon blast sent Robin into the sky, but with a nimble touch he directed himself so that he landed on top of the letter "A". He fled across the letter-tops before the Titans he had fought could recover. "Y", "N"…

" _Stop!_ " commanded Starfire, who floated in front of him, blocking his path, a starbolt glowing around her palm with green light.

Abruptly he stopped on the stretch of the "E".

" _Do not move_."

"I thought I told you to _use that blaster_ ," Slade said warningly. " _Attack! Now!_ "

Slade had raised his voice, which he seldom did. Robin noted reproachfully his fear at the voice, the fear mixed with fury; he prided himself in a seemingly shatterproof confidence.

A hum from the heat ray rose to a high pitch and a red light lit up its tip, ready to fire, and Robin, eyes wide, aimed it directly at her, feeling out of touch with reality. _This can't be real…_

Starfire closed her hand into a fist, her eyes determined. But then Robin saw something transform in her. Like she was realizing something. When she spoke, her tone was dismal.

"Robin… you are my best friend… I… I cannot be in a world where we must fight. If you are truly evil, then go ahead…" The starbolt disappeared, and she lowered her head and brought her arm to her side, closing her eyes in submission. "…Do what you must."

 _I can't._

Robin's mouth dropped open, his heart sinking into an acidic mix of shock and grief.

 _She's lost faith in me._

He lowered the weapon, and his voice was thick. "Starfire… No, I—"

In an instant, sharp feedback shot into his ear canal. " _Robin!_ " He clasped a hand to his head, grimacing. Slade's voice was low and threatening. "I gave you an _order_. If you won't attack, my probes _will_."

Their eyes met, confusion in hers, until a small gasp emanated from her lips.

"Starfire!" He knew what was coming.

Slade was going to kill them.

Starfire's entire body convulsed, and Robin raced to the edge to catch her fall. Every visible patch of her pale skin began glowing red like sunlight through thin flesh. Robin glanced helplessly down at the other Titans, who clutched painfully at their bodies and stumbled and fell.

"Stop! _Please, stop!_ ' Robin shrieked, Starfire quivering in his arms.

" _Attack_ , Robin," Slade commanded in a whispering hiss. "It's the only way to save them… Attack with _everything you've got_."

Robin's eyes darted about helplessly, searching for something, someone, _anything_ that could help him somehow.

He saw nothing.

Terror prevented him from swallowing, from blinking. He could scarcely breathe as he realized he must do it. So he placed Starfire's body gingerly down.

"…Robin…"

His voice broke. "I'm sorry."

And he fired.

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

I ended up putting a lot of my own personal traits in Robin and in Z. For example, my favorite time of day: late afternoon when the sunlight turns golden. It's so beautiful.

For a long time I considered turning the nature of Z and Slade's relationship into a sexual one, before finally deciding. But it's more than just that; Slade controls her psychologically, which will be shown and talked about in further chapters.

"It's kind of hard to leave something behind when it's all you've ever known." Z's quotation here rings true for all of us, in a way (I think). I relate to it a lot. Change can be frightening. We become accustomed to the familiar, even if the familiar is something bad.

On the roof we also see the manifestation of Z's low self-esteem through her own words. I myself suffer from low self-esteem, so this was actually very easy for me to write, which is kind of sad, I guess.

Towards the beginning of the fight, Robin experiences depersonalization. It's not a nice feeling; I feel it any time I encounter conflict that strikes a nerve in me. Google defines it as the following: "A state in which one's thoughts and feelings seem unreal or not to belong to oneself, or in which one loses all sense of identity."


	5. Chapter 5: Attack

Author's Note: Thank you to all those who followed, favorited, and/or reviewed (and also to those viewers who are remaining silent but are still actually reading). I truly do appreciate it! My apologies for the brevity of this chapter; I had difficulty finding a good spot to end it. It would have been _way_ longer than my typical chapter had I not ended it where I did. Here we see the continuation of action with the Titans, some action with Slade, and more interaction with Z. Hope you like it.

* * *

Robin had taken advantage of the time he had had to retrieve the device from within Wayne Tower. Now he ventured back up through the roof tentatively, and, upon seeing that his friends were stirring from unconsciousness, hid behind one of the enormous fluorescent structures. He had caught a glimpse of their condition, though; they were generally unscathed, purely due to Robin intentionally targeting the area of the roof between the Titans, rather than the Titans themselves.

His mind was reeling, and yet, he felt adrift. Escape was the only clear thought.

But he couldn't. Not in the direction he was facing, anyway; the rooftop across from this one was too far away to jump or grapple. No, his only choice was to fight, yet again. His heart palpitated and he felt faint for a moment, but upon hearing Beast Boy's voice initiate dialogue between the now gathered Titans, he knew this was his chance to attack.

The blast from the thermal weapon just missed, passing between Raven and Beast Boy, who shielded their eyes. He vaguely realized that he hadn't intended to miss.

Robin bolted towards Beast Boy, who was not prepared for the assault, knocking him from his feet and hurling his body into a stunned Raven. Sharply turning, he kicked Cyborg away ferociously. Hearing the high-pitched shriek of starbolts, he leaped over Starfire. His feet met the front of one of the giant letters, and he propelled himself into a kick that missed her. He back-sprung and then rolled away.

Landing, he took aim with the thermal ray at Starfire, who stopped midair with a gasp, forcing him to intentionally miss. _Move, dammit!_

Now he aimed at Raven and Beast Boy. The latter transformed into a monkey that scurried away, and the blast dissipated upon making contact with Raven's protective black shield.

Beast Boy. The monkey swung from letter to letter. Too fast—every shot missed. The primate darted towards Robin, scampering around and around his body. At last he grasped his tail and flung him away, but not before he saw the bits and pieces of the thermal blaster turn black and disperse. Raven.

Before she could react, Robin took her by the arm and hood of her sapphire cloak and heaved her away. Sensing a large presence behind him, he cut away from Cyborg's swooping arms intending to take hold of him.

Robin took a few steps back as the Teen Titans regrouped before him. A sense of powerlessness seized his psyche, and he desperately glanced behind him at the next rooftop.

 _Yes_ , he thought. _I can make it._

So he tossed several explosive discs at the bases of the "A" and "Y", intending to bring them down and blind them with light and hopefully more smoke than his discs could produce.

Over the chorus of explosions that effectively brought down the two letters, Robin distantly heard Cyborg shout "Titans, move!" as he bounded over to the adjacent rooftop and disappeared.

* * *

Robin's mind was numb with depersonalization again as he descended from the roof of the Haunt, as quietly as he could down the ladder, down to the south end of the central room. Gingerly stepping onto the floor, he turned north. Most of the light cutting into the darkness emanated from Slade's smaller computer screen, in front of which sat the villain. Facing away from Robin.

 _This is my chance._

He crept silently towards the seated figure. As he approached, he could see that Slade was rewinding and replaying video footage. Footage of the battle Robin had just fled.

 _I'll put everything I've got behind my fist_ , he thought, for the thermal blaster was gone. Also, he had used all his explosive, flash, and smoke discs at Wayne Tower; dealing with the security there had been quite difficult.

"Thrilling…" he heard him murmur. "My apprentice is progressing even faster than I had hoped."

He took in a deep breath—slowly, silently—and held it. He was only about ten feet away now. The gigantic system of gears throughout the room groaned forebodingly.

"All he needed was a little… motivation."

"Motivate _this!_ " He threw the punch with all his might.

But Slade caught it in his palm.

 _What!? Such reflexes…!_

Robin attempted to pull away, but Slade's grasp on his fist was like steel. Then Slade pushed him away with such force that he tumbled backwards.

"Robin," came the rather pleased voice. Slade rose and advanced towards him. "That was vicious, dishonorable, and ruthless."

Robin readied his fists, having regained his feet.

" _Excellent_ work," he complimented, to Robin's astonishment. "You're becoming more like me every second."

The fury rose up in him like lightning, for the first time after weeks of numbness, but all his kicks and punches were either dodged or deflected. Within seconds he was off the floor in Slade's grasp, his large arms crushing his chest so that he involuntarily expelled all breath. Robin kicked the air helplessly.

"You know… when I activated those probes and commanded you to fire… you _could_ have aimed directly at one of the Titans. But you didn't, did you?" Slade said menacingly. "I'm no fool. I've watched the footage. That was intentional. You could have done much more damage."

Finally Slade let go, walking away, and Robin sank to the ground, gasping for breath. "I did… as you commanded…" he managed. "I… I fired at them."

"In their general direction," Slade corrected, lowering himself to one knee beside Robin, uncomfortably close. Their gazes met, and Slade lowered his voice to an ominous tone. "You may not have directly disobeyed my order, but you came close. It's a fine line you walk, Robin. So you might want to consider turning your thoughts to _my_ wishes, not _yours_. If you don't, your precious Titans _will_ pay the ultimate price. Make no mistake about that."

A kick to the abdomen sent Robin tumbling away with a sharp cough.

"I have much to teach you," Slade hissed as he loomed above Robin, "but the first thing you need to learn is _gratitude_."

Robin heard Slade lower himself to his level.

"I made you my _apprentice_ ; all my knowledge, all my power, all for _you_ …" he emphasized, grasping Robin painfully by the hair and turning his head to face his metal mask. Robin felt the hot breath on his face as Slade raised his voice. "…But the only thing you care about is your worthless…little… _friends!_ "

Robin emitted an animalistic snarl in response.

"If the Titans are so distracting," Slade began, releasing Robin and standing, "maybe I should just get rid of them." He held out his wrist, a finger poised above the red trigger.

Robin reached a pleading hand in Slade's direction. "Don't… I'll… I'll do whatever you say." His voice was overcome and a heavy pain pulsed through his chest as he realized his defeat.

"Good boy. Now, hand over your mask."

 _Not again_ …

He inhaled a rather sharp, trembling breath that almost sounded like a sob, and felt his face burn at the pathetic sound.

What he felt was something akin to desolation. He despaired that his plan had failed, even if it was spur-of-the-moment. He despaired that he had had to fight his friends yet _again_. He despaired that at one point, he truly had intended them harm, even if he hadn't been thinking rationally. There was no excuse for such a thing. He despaired that Starfire now doubted his integrity. But most of all, he despaired at the fear gnawing increasingly at his insides—the fear that he would simply _break_.

Miserably he rose, peeling the domino mask from his eyes and handing it over.

Then a devastating realization slashed into him like shards of glass.

 _Out of all the Titans… if_ Starfire _has lost faith in me… then certainly the others gave up on me long ago._

Suddenly he couldn't get enough air, and colorful speckles danced in his eyes. His heart palpitated several times consecutively, and he must have fallen, because he felt the cold cement floor against his forehead.

 _Cardiac arrest_ , he thought in a new panic.

Within seconds his breathing hastened to hyperventilation. His mind raced with fragmented thoughts. _…Going to die… He'll kill them…_ Robin's hands and face went numb, and blackness engulfed his vision.

Vaguely through the ringing of his ears he heard hurried footsteps, and then an anxious female voice.

"…not breathing right… did you do? …need medical attention?"

"…attack… be fine… harmless… to his quarters, please."

"Hold on… have to… to improve air flow."

"…on with it, then."

Footsteps—heavier ones—echoing, fading.

Some force flipped him over onto his back. He tried to prop himself up onto his elbows, but felt a cold hand push him gently back down. Z.

"…down for a moment… need to breathe."

He felt one chilly hand beneath his skull, and another under his chin, tilting his head back. Knowing it was only Z, and having heard Slade left, he thought maybe he was safe; he surrendered to her guidance.

 _Wait_ , he thought, as his vision returned in neon colors. _I can't trust her._

"Shouldn't… can't trust you," he managed breathlessly, the numbness in his face and hands subsiding.

"God, you're so stubborn." The neon colors formed into Z's face. Her mouth was a tight, sad line. After a moment, she spoke again. "Let me help you sit up."

Robin complied, feeling her icy hands supporting his back. He felt her reach for his waist and unclasp his utility belt.

"What are you—"

"Relax," she said, gathering up the belt. "I just need to give these back to Slade." She also took the earpiece.

"Oh."

She left momentarily, and when she came back to crouch beside him, the effects of the strange attack had mostly subsided.

Robin inhaled deeply, and then sighed in relief. He cast a confused glance at Z. "I thought I was having a heart attack."

"You had a severe anxiety attack," she explained. "Can I help you get up? I'm supposed to take you to your room."

He nodded, and was surprised—rather embarrassed, actually—by the weakness in his legs, but Z helped him to his feet with one arm around him. He was also mildly astonished that he didn't feel uncomfortable at how close their bodies were. No, he generally felt safe with Z, though he knew he shouldn't.

Z helped him to his room where he stood, slouching with a new fatigue, as she removed the metal plates from his uniform.

"Have… have you ever had a… an anxiety attack?"

"Once or twice," she stated. "Worst one was when I found my parents."

"Found them…?"

"They… were murdered."

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely, softly. "If it's any consolation, my parents were murdered as well."

"Mm. I guess fate likes to shit on us both, huh?"

"I know who did it, too."

She met his cerulean eyes for a moment. "What did you do?" she asked somberly.

Robin emitted something like a bitter chuckle. "Nothing. My… someone important to me… he actually convinced me to not go to the police."

Z furrowed her brow in puzzlement. "Why?"

"Because if I did go, I probably wouldn't be standing here talking with you right now."

"Corruption within the authorities?"

"That's what he told me. Or at the very least, it's what he suspected. He probably saved my life."

"Hmm." She removed the last plate from his upper arm. "You know, my room is just across the hall from yours, just a bit further down a ways."

"What?"

She half-smiled. "I'm saying you're welcome there anytime. Just knock first. My passcode is nine six three nine. I don't sleep much, so I'm up in the early evening. And sometimes in the late afternoon, after I'm done training."

"Wouldn't Slade forbid it?"

"Hmm… probably not. I doubt he'd care much, actually."

"I'm curious, though. What do you train so much for? You work on your skills almost as much as I do."

She seemed offended, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I do more around here than just suck Slade's cock."

Robin internally recoiled at the image. "I didn't mean it that way."

She sighed. "I know… well, he sends me on more minor 'missions', I guess you could say. Usually the nature of it is like your first assignment."

"Gary Olsen, you mean?"

"Yes. But I doubt I'll ever see him again."

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. You wouldn't know something like that."

"Something like what?"

Z glanced about the room and at the open door, checking to make sure they were alone. She leaned in towards him and whispered, "Slade had him killed. Or so I overheard."

"What? Why?" he inquired, a bit stunned. Robin hadn't exactly taken a liking to the man, and knew he was a criminal, but he didn't think he necessarily deserved assassination.

"You're his apprentice. An important asset, you see. And they shot you."

"One of the guards shot me, not Gary."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. That one man's conduct reflects—or did reflect, I should say—back on Olsen. So Slade had them both killed. People like Olsen, they're very aware of the danger they live in day to day. They just don't care. Especially when there's wealth to be had."

Robin shook his head and released a disgusted sound.

Z looked at him seriously. "That kind of thing is not uncommon in this kind of life. And you, apprentice, have no choice but to get used to it. I don't see your predicament changing anytime soon, so chances are you're going to be here for a while."

It finally dawned on him that what Z said might actually come to pass.

She sighed forlornly when she saw the grief in his eyes. "You honestly had thought you could free your friends and yourself," she realized out loud, shaking her head. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm not going to sugar-coat anything for you: it's never going to happen."

Robin was silent.

"Well, it's pretty late. Try to get some rest, Robin," Z suggested, her eyes gentle, turning to leave. "And please don't give me that sad look. It's not my fault."

With that, she left, and the steel door slid shut.

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

I was able to describe Robin's panic attack so well because I actually suffer from panic disorder, a mental illness characterized by chronic panic attacks. Many people who experience their first panic attack often mistake it for a heart attack, which just makes them panic even more. It's a _horrible_ feeling, and afterwards you are just spent, emotionally and physically. I'm so wicked towards Robin, aren't I? Forcing my own pain on him. (Insert evil maniacal laughter here.)

Once again, some 'candy' for hardcore fans: a bit of Robin's past revealed, in case you didn't know about it.


	6. Chapter 6: The Plan

Author's Note: Things start to get a bit more intense in this chapter. Robin and Z clash a bit, and Robin's depression is more evident as he gropes for what little pieces of hope he can find.

* * *

Robin sank to the floor, experiencing the strangest mix of sentiments he'd ever felt in his life. Jagged grief weighed heavily on his chest, numbness swam around in his head, and resentment kindled in the pit of his stomach. Resentment towards Z.

 _No_ , he thought. _All she did was provide me with a major reality check. I should be grateful, not angry._ Yet, his emotion trumped his logic.

Robin trudged over to the sink with the mirror. He hunched over, leaning his elbows on the porcelain, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Somewhere inside him he felt like he wanted to cry, but after about a minute, realized he physically couldn't.

He stripped and entered the shower. The warm water drenched his hair and trickled down his back. He felt the temperature rise as his hand turned the lever, hotter and hotter still, until his skin was ablaze and steam rose from his body.

To his surprise, he slept soundly that night, despite his burned skin. Jasper arrived in the morning with his breakfast, which Robin flushed down the toilet.

Robin entered the south training room with the steel beams, but found it dark and empty.

"Hello?" He flicked on the lights.

No one.

Then he heard running footsteps from outside the door, so he peered out. It was Z, and she cradled her water bottle and some sort of device her arms.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," she apologized breathlessly, "Slade had to give me these for our training today." She gestured to the night-vision goggles in her hand.

"Is that the only thing Slade was giving you?" Robin retorted.

Her mouth dropped open, and he smirked at her reaction.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she demanded in disbelief.

"Plenty. Just like you."

Wait, _what?_ Had he really just had the gall to speak to her that way?

Z squinted at him guardedly. "What did Slade say about me?"

Just then he noted the increasing shine in her honey-colored eyes. It snapped him out of… out of whatever had caused him to act in such a manner.

"Uh… nothing."

"Yeah, right."

"No, really," he insisted. "At least when I'm with him, he never talks about you." He winced at how that sounded. He was about to say something else, something to nullify what had just emerged from his lips, but the damage was evidently done.

Z had turned away from him and was in a crouching position. She gulped a bit of her water, and then put a hand briefly to her face, he presumed, to blot away the tears with her fingers.

Indeed, what _was_ wrong with him? Where was his remorse? Perhaps he was reacting instinctively out of vengeance, to get back at her for what she said last night…? All he knew for sure was the fact that his pent-up emotions were seeping out, and manifestly, a part of him—a quiet, dark part that seemed to be growing recently—didn't care much if he took it out on Z. He didn't recognize, didn't identify with this new side of himself, nor did he like it.

Z stood and went over to the light toggle, her hand poised above the switch. When she faced Robin, her expression was impassive, and her voice was cold and detached. "Go to the center of the room. I'll turn off the lights, and we can begin. Your goal is the same as our very first training session together: to land three hits on me. And don't hold back, because I certainly won't."

Robin thought he detected a threatening tone in that last part. And he didn't blame her one bit. He obeyed without comment.

Z pulled the goggles over her eyes and then the room went black.

The sound of the lights powering off echoed vastly, veiling Z's footsteps.

Silence.

"Not afraid of the dark, are you?"

He whipped around to face the taunting voice. His eyes strained to see, but the darkness was thick and unyielding.

Suddenly he heard the _tap_ close behind him, and didn't have time to react; the kick swiped him off his feet, and he landed firmly on his side.

Before he could even regain his feet, another kick bashed him in the chest, and he crashed down on his back, his head thudding painfully against the cement floor. He heard her giggle echo, and anger sparked within him.

"Z," he protested sourly, sitting up, "Could you at least let me—" Yet another kick sent him rolling. He thought that her kicks were rather vicious compared to what he had dealt with before. He had definitely struck a nerve. A deeply sensitive one.

"Come on, Robin," circled her snide voice, "Attack me."

Robin crouched on the floor, emitted a resentful growl, and threw an uppercut to the shadow he thought he saw. _Swish_. Air.

Time progressed like so, maybe an hour, Robin supposed, and Z's mocking comments echoed throughout the room the whole time. He panted; he was growing very aggravated.

"You rely on your eyes too much." He twisted towards the voice and was greeted by a burst of hot air down his left ear canal. He threw a right hook towards where he thought her head would be. _Missed._

 _Yes_ , he thought, his logical reasoning scoring through his irritation. _I need to use my other senses. What did Z say before? 'You can't let your anger control you'?_ He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

In the instant he heard the scarcely audible _swoosh_ of her hair— _roundhouse_ , he guessed—he ducked low, and the kick just grazed his head.

"Ha!" she cried. "Now you're getting it."

Only a few of her hits connected after that point, and it took serious effort and concentration on Robin's part to discard continually the use of his eyesight. After a few hours of simple evasion, he had managed to snatch the night-vision goggles that protruded from her face, flinging the device away from them, thus rendering the two more or less equally matched. Having put Z on the defensive, it didn't take long for Robin to knock her down twice.

"You threw my goggles," she said breathlessly from across the room. "Not… not fair."

"Wrong. You started with an advantage."

By the time Robin landed a third hit, he seemed generally certain that the tension between them had mostly dissipated—that is, until Jasper arrived with lunch.

Z was utterly silent as she ate. In fact, she wasn't even facing Robin. Robin just scowled at his untouched plate.

The auburn-framed face finally rotated to cast him a questioning glance. After a moment of rather sore silence, she spoke in a flat tone. "Aren't you going to eat that?"

Robin shook his head. Z snatched up the grapes from his tray and popped one into her mouth. After finishing those in addition to her own food, she took his sandwich. He lifted a brow at her.

"Oh, please excuse me," she remarked with a counterfeit politeness. "Spending time with people who treat me like absolute shit makes me extra hungry."

Robin didn't respond. Clearly she was fishing for an apology, and he was not in the mood to provide one.

"Seriously though," she said after a time, in a more sober voice, finally shifting her body to face him, "Why did you say that? That's really not like you."

"…I know," he mumbled, dejectedly looking at the floor. "It's not you. It's… this place. Things are… I don't know, changing, or something."

"Everyone's experience with grief is unique and different," she said. "Everything—"

"Grief?"

She nodded. "You've lost something, yes? Therefore you grieve for your loss. Everything is constantly changing. The changing of the world around us continually changes who we are along with it. And there's nothing we can do to defy that fact."

Change… So much had changed since Robin had arrived, though he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. How long had it been now? Two months? Three? More? Dimly he wished he had kept a record of the days as they passed. _How did I end up here?_

"I don't like who I—" he began to mutter, but stopped when he saw Jasper appear in the doorway.

Z gathered up the food trays and handed them to the butler-and-cook-of-sorts, thanking him genuinely.

 _She's much more resilient than I am_ , he thought forlornly.

Jasper left, and she wore a look mixed with surprise and concern as she turned to face Robin. "What's wrong?"

"Aside from nearly everything? I guess I'm just a bit jealous of your resiliency."

She mildly scoffed. "I'm not as resilient as you might think."

A brief, comfortable quiet passed. After sighing, she spoke again. "Well, now you're to train with Slade all afternoon." She poised a finger to her chin and grinned, as if a happy thought occurred to her. "Say, why don't you come by my room after dinner? Or better yet, bring your dinner over and we can eat together. I have some pretty cool things I want to show you."

"Oh? Like what?"

"You'll see, later," she smiled. "Remember, nine six three nine."

* * *

The goal of afternoon's training was to destroy all twenty of Slade's robots. It proved more challenging than Robin expected though, not just because he had to dodge their barrage of attacks, but also because each of the CPUs was located in a different area within each robot. As such, tearing them apart took all afternoon. Slade generally made no comments except for the occasional compliment or small bit of advice. Robin was grateful Slade didn't mention his panic attack; he preferred to pretend it hadn't happened. By six o'clock, he was physically spent and bruises had formed in various places all over his body where the robots had landed blows, but he didn't feel any sense of accomplishment like he expected he would after finishing. Rather, he felt… empty.

He arrived inside his room to find the dinner tray on the rolling table as usual. His stomach growled, but he recoiled at the sight of food. Once again, after confirming that he was alone, he dumped his dinner down the toilet.

Robin undressed by the walk-in closet—he no longer cared if anyone were to catch a glimpse of his naked body—and entered the shower, turning up the heat, again, until it burned him. He sighed at the sensation, even though it was more painful than pleasant. It seemed to push away, at least temporarily, the stagnancy that so often now swirled inside his head.

Having put on a fresh uniform and gelled his hair in its usual fashion, Robin pressed the 'enter' button beside his door to open it—his side was no longer disabled—and took a few steps down the hallway to Z's door.

Nine, six, three nine…

Her door slid open, and a soft yellow beam of light cast itself upon him.

Z was sitting on the floor, her back against her bed, surrounded by books. She looked up from the one in her hands and smiled warmly. "Robin!"

"Hey," he greeted her, glancing about her room, a bit taken aback by the relaxed atmosphere of her room compared to his. The first thing he noticed was the bookshelves that lined her walls. They were chock-full of assorted colors of spines, wide and narrow, jutting out into the golden light that emanated from the two brass lamps situated in opposite sides of the room. A couple of lonely, stuffed chairs rested here and there, and the walls were even painted sky blue.

He must have worn a look of admiration, because he heard her chuckle. "You like it?"

"It's a bit… cozier than mine."

"Well, I've been here practically forever," she stated simply, standing and placing her book on her neatly made bed, dragging one of the armchairs over towards her bed, near Jasper's rolling table with her untouched dinner tray. "I imagine you'll have more and more privileges as the years go by."

 _Years_ … He dismissed the thought quickly; thinking that far ahead felt almost… dangerous. He wasn't ready to go there. Not just yet.

"Well, come in," she said through a grin, gesturing towards the chair. He took his seat quietly. Z pressed the 'enter' key that slid the door shut and went over to her bed, half-sitting and half-leaning on it, facing Robin.

Despite Z's warm welcome, Robin felt a bit out of place. Like he was an intruder in her world, afraid he would damage it like he seemed to damage _her_ this morning.

 _You're volatile_ , he thought to himself grimly.

She glanced around for a moment. "Didn't you bring your dinner?"

"Oh. Sorry. I already ate," he lied. _Why do I keep lying?_

"Oh, okay. You don't mind if I eat mine, then?"

"Of course not."

She sipped a large spoonful of soup. "So, was your training with Slade different today?"

Robin nodded, and explained what Slade had him do in his training and how difficult it was.

"Mm," she remarked. "I expected he would do something like that. After that stunt you pulled last night, I mean."

Robin furrowed his brow. "And how do you know about that? How do you overhear so much, like about Gary Olsen, for instance?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "There aren't that many servants here, but between me, Jasper, Wintergreen, and a couple others, word gets around quickly enough."

"Gossiping around here sounds dangerous."

"Nah," she waved her hand at him dismissively, biting into her cornbread muffin, "We gossip, but each of us knows better than to actually cross Slade. Except you, that is."

Robin ignored that last part of her comment, and changed the subject. "What were you reading? When I came in? Sorry to interrupt, by the way."

"Oh, no, please," she said, "I rather enjoy your company. Most of the time, anyway." She slurped her soup and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, smiling. "I was reading a novella. _Of Mice and Men_."

"You mean a novel?"

"No, a _novella._ There are different types of literature categorized by their word counts. Novellas are quite a bit shorter than novels."

"Oh. So what's it about?"

Z told him an entire story that took place out West during the Great Depression, about George Milton and Lennie Small, migrant workers who, like so many others at that time, were searching for employment. George was Lennie's friend, but also acted as his protector, because Lennie had an intellectual disability. Lennie took pleasure in simple things, most notably touching soft objects, and this landed him in trouble when, on the ranch, the boss's son's wife offered to let Lennie touch her hair. He was frightened when she demanded that he stop, so he grabbed her and accidentally broke her neck. George and their old handyman friend, Candy, found her dead in the barn, and soon Curley, the boss's son, organized a manhunt for Lennie. But George found him first and, knowing the cruelty of the men that were after him and the cruelty of the world towards people like Lennie, he shot him in the head.

Robin blinked. "Wow… that's really… heavy. I take it you've read it more than once?"

"It is that. And yes, I've read it more times than I can count. Enough times to get a good idea of the themes and symbols Steinbeck uses throughout the story. I always like identifying the underlying messages in stories. _Of Mice and Men_ is my second most favorite book."

"What's your most favorite, then?"

She beamed. " _The Great Gatsby_."

She went on to describe the book, a story that took place during 1922 in New York, narrated by Nick Carraway, with the protagonist being Nick's new neighbor, Jay Gatsby, one of the 'new rich' in Long Island. Nick visited his cousin, Daisy Buchanan and her husband, Tom, who had a mistress named Myrtle. Nick found out that Gatsby was still in love with Daisy, from back when they were together five years prior, and that Gatsby threw weekly lavish parties displaying his newly acquired wealth in order to impress her. It worked, and the two begin an affair, but in the end after Tom found out and confronted the two of them, Daisy realized her allegiance was with Tom, purely because of his long-standing wealth. Daisy killed Myrtle in and hit-and-run, and Tom told Myrtle's husband George that the killer was Gatsby. So George found Gatsby and shot him, then turned the gun on himself. So then Nick moved back to the Midwest; the moral corruption of the people he was surrounded by disgusted him.

"And so Nick reflected that just like Gatsby's dream for Daisy was corrupted by wealth and lies, so has the American dream of happiness and individualism disintegrated into nothing more than the pursuit of wealth. The American dream, as far as Nick is concerned, is over."

Robin exhaled. "Why do you read such depressing books?"

She clicked her tongue at Robin's remark. "It's not _completely_ depressing. Gatsby was able to dream and see his dream come true, at least for a while… even if it ended tragically. We all need to dream. Without dreams, we're dead inside."

Robin reflected on that for a moment, and became even more disheartened at his insight—the insight that Z's dream, despite all the years of rape and abuse, was for Slade to finally love her.

"Besides," she added, gazing at the ceiling, "I like a bittersweet story over a happy ending. It's much more realistic."

"I like action movies."

Z laughed.

Just then the door slid open, and Jasper entered and left with the rolling table and Z's empty tray.

Z's smile vanished. "Hey, that reminds me… What were you going to say to me, earlier today, before Jasper came in? You said you don't like… don't like who you are, or something like that?"

"Oh… I was going to say that I don't like who I am now," he muttered. "I liked who I was as leader of the Teen Titans. Now I've been… _reduced_ to nothing more than a low-life criminal."

"Is that what you think of me?" she asked somberly. "Am I a 'low-life criminal'?"

"No," he said quickly. "You… You're different."

She chuckled cynically. "Robin, I'm involved with criminal dealings at least twice a week. Slade keeps a record of all my completed assignments. I have pretty big file."

Something occurred to him then. "File?"

"Yeah. In his office."

"Does he keep files of all his… dealings?"

"I don't know. I don't go in there that often. Where are you going with this?"

Images flashed through Robin's mind of the Titans' flesh glowing red with the activated probes the day he stole from Wayne Tower. The image of Starfire trembling in his arms. He shuddered at the memory.

There was nothing he could do to change the fact that the Titans' bloodstreams were flowing with nanoscopic probes that could kill them at any moment. But he seriously considered the possibility that the probes came with… a manual, or something of the sort. There had to be a way to deactivate them, right? Maybe even _dissolve_ them? Maybe he could find out what material they were made of. Maybe then he could—

"Hey," Z eyed him suspiciously, "You're not getting any crazy ideas, are you?"

Robin cast her a serious glance in silence. His eyes were imploring.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Please don't tell me you intend to come up with some ludicrous plan to go in there and find information about… about what? What could you find in there that would be of use to you?"

"The Titan's bodies are infected with what Slade called nanoscopic probes. With the push of a button that he keeps on his person at all times, he can kill them whenever he wants. I was just thinking… if he keeps records of these things…"

"…Then you might find some way to get rid of the probes?"

"Maybe. Or at least deactivate them."

She sighed in exasperation. "Robin, there's no way you can do that."

"Why not? There must be _something_ ," he insisted urgently, grasping for shreds of hope he had thought were long gone.

"I'm not saying there isn't." She leaned towards him. "What I'm saying is, there's always someone in there. Always."

Robin persisted. "You said you don't go in there often. Okay, but when you _do_ go in, how do you _get_ in? Do you know the passcode?"

"No. My card is cleared to open it. Only Wintergreen and I have clearance. And of course, only Slade knows the passcode."

"What if you could—"

" _No_ ," she said forcefully, then after a moment, sneered. "You think _I'm_ going to stick out my neck for _you_? No way. I'd be killed if I were caught."

"Then let _me_ go."

"What? Let you use my card? Even if I did, what good would it do? Like I told you, there would either be Wintergreen or Slade in there, or both."

"What if it was just Slade, and you drew him out? Do you ever… uh… get together outside his office?"

Z was hesitant and looked away. Her voice was very quiet. "If you must know, once in a great while he'll suggest we come in here."

The plan was already forming in Robin's mind. He just needed Z to cooperate. "So why can't you—"

"You don't get it," she snapped, directing a cross expression at Robin. "This… this is _my_ room. _Mine_. It's the only place that makes me feel… safe."

Seeing his confusion, she sighed and stared at the wall. "When Slade is in here, it's like… I don't know… well, when we're together, he just… acts like he _owns_ me, you know? He actually…" She swallowed and closed her eyes. "He makes me say it."

"Say what? That he _owns_ you?" he asked softly with a pained expression.

She nodded. "But he's _wrong_. I own _myself_. No one owns me except _me_."

Robin felt slightly queasy. This was sick. What he was asking her to do was sick. _I can't do it…_ His heart sank.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"You can't do what?" she asked blankly.

Had he said that out loud? Robin heaved a sigh. "I just realized… I can't ask you to do this for me. It's not right."

They met each other's eyes, both mixed with confusion and pain. However, they seemed to be in mutual consensus. They shared a moment of silence, both deeply in thought.

Then Robin spoke. "You're not infected with the probes too, are you?"

"Nope."

"So logically, there's no way he can force you to stay here, right?"

She sighed. "Not physically, no."

Robin wore a confused look.

Her mouth formed a tight line. "Like I said, you don't understand."

"I'm willing to try if you'd just—"

"No," she interrupted, and then snickered bitterly. "I already have one man picking at my brains. I don't need another."

Robin just looked at her sadly.

"You should go get some sleep," Z said. Her voice was gentle but vaguely beseeching.

He took that as "Please leave; you're making me have painful feelings". He understood that much, and didn't want to make her any more uncomfortable, so he rose from the chair, nodded at her, and left.

* * *

Days passed, training continually involving 'hit-Z-in-the-dark' in the mornings and the robots in the afternoons, and Robin persistently stole glances at the northwest corner of the Haunt whenever he could. Z had described Wintergreen to him—mostly bald and wearing a white suit jacket and tie—and Robin saw him enter and leave Slade's office quite often. At the same time, two halves inside him argued back and forth—the side clinging to fleeting hopes, and the side that warned him that hope was futile.

Nearly a week later, after a burning evening shower, he began pulling on a fresh uniform, and suddenly his door slid open.

Their eyes locked instantly, Z strode toward him and, to Robin's astonishment, threw her arms around his half-dressed body in a tight embrace.

"What—"

"You're a good person, Robin," she affirmed, holding on to him, her touch tingling his burned skin. "I don't want you to change, and you _will_ change if you stay here. Therefore I'll do whatever it takes to help get you out." He felt her stuff something in his pocket, and then she turned to leave. "Now go, before I change my mind."

She quickly left.

Robin stood, frozen, mind racing. Numbly he reached into his pocket and pulled out… Z's card.

He had been warring with himself for a week… but Z had made the decision for him. At her own expense.

 _No_ , he thought. _I'm not going to let her sacrifice go to waste._

Hastily he pulled on the rest of his uniform and left his room. He put his ear to Z's door.

Rustling noises. And then the familiar, low, booming voice that could only be Slade, though he couldn't make out what he was saying. Frankly, he didn't want to know.

Quietly yet as rapidly as he could, he entered the main room of the Haunt and headed towards the office, eyes darting about.

Alone. He assumed that Z had made sure Wintergreen was gone too.

The enormous system of gears in the Haunt shuddered and groaned warningly as Robin swiped the card through the interface, and the door opened.

Dim lights buzzed alive above him as he walked in, illuminating some dark pieces of furniture. Yes, he confirmed, Wintergreen was gone, for whatever reason. He pressed the 'enter' key inside to shut and lock the door.

The room was spacious, and a hefty but neat desk with a large, sophisticated-looking computer sat upon a platform in the center of the room, behind which stood a few towering file cabinets against the wall. Bingo.

Robin was surprised the find them unlocked. But, then again, with a locked office, he guessed it wasn't really necessary.

Drawer by drawer he searched. Client: R. R. Murdock, alias Toby Borden. Target: Selena Black. Client: S. L. Browning, alias Hal Yale… Client, client, client… _No, not here…_ Next drawer. It was organized alphabetically, like so many others, but in this one at the very back was a folder labeled "Miscellaneous". Robin took it out.

Inside were papers of various sorts, but most of them contained medical terminology, most of which Robin didn't understand, but he picked out bits and pieces, all concerned with one person: Joseph "Jericho" William Wilson. Deep laceration… larynx… He gathered that this "Jericho" person had had his throat cut. But what significance did this person hold for Slade?

Then he read another name: Slade Wilson. _Wilson! Joseph "Jericho" Wilson, Slade Wilson… they're_ related? _So Slade isn't an alias?_ His mind raced back to the night he first met Nightburn.

And how is your son…? It's been a long time since…

 _Do_ not _mention my family in front of my apprentice._

Was this person Slade's _son_? Was he dead?

Robin flipped through the last section of papers, and inhaled sharply at the sight of the word: probes. He scanned the page frantically. Ethyrionite nanoscopic probes. _Ethyrionite? That must be the substance they're made of_ , Robin thought, hope churning in his pulsing veins.

Hurry… He fumbled with the sheets. How long has it been now? Maybe—

The sound of the door opening caused him to start, and the folder's papers flipped and floated about.

One left eye glowered at him from the doorway.

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

"Yet, his emotion trumped his logic." This is something I learned at my local psychiatric rehabilitation program. Our instinct is to react with our emotions. When we are fiercely emotional, we are not rational. We have to fight to retain our logical reasoning. It is a skill, and like any skill, takes practice.

In the beginning of this chapter Robin takes a super-hot shower that burns his skin, but no thoughts from him occur. This is the first hint at the theme of self-harm in this story. It always starts with something seemingly insignificant, and often no thought accompanies the self-harm, save the instinct to hurt oneself.

When someone is in a great deal of pain, they can often lash out at others, sometimes without even realizing it or without meaning to. This truth is evident in Robin and Z's interaction early on in the chapter when he makes a cruel side-comment on the sexual relationship between Z and Slade.

Z discusses grief briefly in this chapter. When I first outlined this story, I actually organized each event according to the different stages of grief, like shock, anger, and depression.

I didn't just look up Cliffnotes for _Of Mice and Men_ and _The Great Gatsby_ ; I've read them both in their entireties when I was in high school. (Watch _Of Mice and Men_ with Gary Sinise; it's excellent.) I have an appreciation for classical literature, so I decided to add that to Z's character. I also have a preference for, as Z put it, "a bittersweet story over a happy ending". _Of Mice and Men_ is quite tragic, but my most favorite movie, _Memoirs of a Geisha_ , is delightfully bittersweet at the end. I highly recommend it, especially if you're at least somewhat into Japanese culture and/or history like I am.

More 'candy' for the DC fans (Jericho, I mean)!

Can you tell that I _love_ cliffhangers? ;)


	7. Chapter 7: Death and Despondency

Author's Note: Is it just me, or did it take me forever to update? I had to be very careful with this chapter, partly because writing fight scenes and emotionally heavy scenes is hard, and partly to do my best to keep Slade in character. Also, it's important as a writer to make sure every line of dialogue has purpose and adds something to the story. In addition, as of 6-13-16, I added _Interesting Facts and Insights About Lingering Demons_ at the end of every chapter. Just little snippets of information about particular chapters, about my writing process, or about life in general. So if you so desire, you can go back to previous chapters to read those little bits. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that little cliffhanger as much as I did. ;) So finally, a moment you've all been waiting for… Robin and Slade face off!

* * *

The papers settled on the floor. His pulse raced with adrenaline.

He began hurriedly gathering up the sheets and placing them back in the folder, as if doing so could somehow reduce the peril in which he now found himself, but he stopped when he heard Slade's cool voice.

"How nice of you to try and clean up the mess you made," he said evenly. "However, I don't quite think you realize the extent of what you've done."

Robin froze as Slade advanced towards him.

" _Oh_ ," he remarked, glancing at the papers, "I see you've gone through the miscellaneous files I haven't put away yet. Reading about the probes, I presume? I don't think—"

The eye widened suddenly.

Robin followed his gaze to the medical records still on the floor. He steeled himself, gathering his courage, and stood, leaning towards the villain.

"You blackmail me, threaten the Titans with death, assassinate people you don't even know, and so Jericho is killed," Robin said deliberately, fighting with everything he had to replace the tremor in his voice with a low, threatening tone. "It looks like what goes around comes around, doesn't it?"

Slade turned away slightly before speaking in a menacing pitch. "Robin, you have _no idea_ how right you are."

The hook connected with Robin's temple, and he hazily noticed the room spinning as his body tumbled away, slid across the desktop, and landed hard on the floor. The computer crashed down, and a paperweight rolled by him, entrancing him as various colors swam in his eyes and then obscured his vision. The punch had been brutal, propelled by a silent fury he had never before seen in his nemesis. Though blinded, he sat up, but felt as if he was drowning in a churning sea.

"Actually, my son is alive," he boomed, pacing towards him, and then lowered his face to Robin's ominously, his voice a whispering hiss. "Unfortunately though, I might not be able to say the same for you in a few minutes."

The fierce kick sunk into Robin's abdomen, expelling all his breath and impelling him backwards with a force that thrust him out the door of the office. He pushed himself up from the concrete, struggling to inhale, his head throbbing from the first blow.

"If your son is alive…" Robin wheezed, "…then where is he?"

Before his vision could clear, a blow from above planted his face into the floor—immediately he tasted blood—and then a kick to his side tossed him away.

Robin gathered from Slade's violent response that he had hit a sore spot. And because of that, part of him felt almost… powerful. After _months_ of utter powerlessness.

"What's wrong?" Robin coughed. "Did I strike a nerve?"

"Maybe. But not in the way you imagine."

"How should I imagine it?" he inquired purposefully, awkwardly regaining his feet.

"Let's just say that there are far worse fates than mere death that could await the Titans," he hinted. He gazed at the ceiling, scratching his chin in mock thought. "I suppose I could always sell those two girls to the gentlemen at the Diamond Parlor. What were their names? Raven and… that alien girl you're so fond of."

"Leave Raven and Starfire out of this!" Images flashed through his mind of filthy, low-life, predatory men abusing them.

" _Starfire_ , yes. What's wrong? Did I strike a nerve?" he mocked, cocking his head at Robin. "Indeed, maybe I'll sell _her_."

As Robin charged, he heard the enraged yell echo throughout the Haunt before realizing it came from him. Slade ducked beneath the kick, and then countered with his own, swiping Robin off his feet. He deftly rolled away from Slade's attempt to stomp on his chest, and then rose, gritting his teeth.

"I'm well aware of how you abuse women. Of course a man who rapes ten-year-old girls isn't below trying to sell them as well," Robin snarled.

Slade straightened. "Ah, so little Z told you a bit about her past," he said in an amused voice. "Did she also tell you that she _enjoyed_ it every single time after the first? So much so that she moans my name?"

Robin swallowed his bloody saliva, nausea twisting his stomach.

Then he saw it.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Slade crouched where Robin had rolled away and picked up the card that must have fallen out of his pocket.

"I figured that's how you got in," Slade muttered, circling Robin from a distance. "I made a mistake by letting you two spend time together. I honestly didn't think you would be foolish enough to conspire against me." He stopped, shaking his head in disapproval. "I suppose it was her idea. Using you to find information to—"

"It was _mine_ ," he asserted.

"Hmm… I suppose I'll have to punish her."

"I _said_ it was _my_ idea," Robin growled, clenching his fists.

Slade waved Z's card. "You couldn't have gotten in without this. Therefore she consented to your little plan."

Robin glared at him with antipathy.

"…Unless, of course, you found some way to discover my passcode, which I highly doubt. No, Z gave you her card," he said, seemingly impressed. "Now, why would she be willing to help _you_? Surely she doesn't hold some ridiculous notion that you're her _friend_. After all, you no longer have any of those."

"Whatever she thinks or feels, it's none of your business," Robin snapped.

"Yes," he affirmed, ignoring Robin. "She will receive punishment."

"You'll have to go through _me_ first!" he cried furiously, panic rising in his throat. _Now Z is in serious trouble because of me._

"That's the plan," he replied menacingly, sauntering over to Robin.

 _All I can do is wear him out as much as possible so Z has a better chance at escape_ , he thought. _Get him angry so he expends more energy._

"Why isn't your son with you? Surely he'd have been a more willing apprentice than I am."

"I imagine a mute trainee would pose insurmountable problems to an apprenticeship."

Robin paced backwards, buying time. "So why did Jericho leave? Does he hate you? It's a shame he can't express it. But I doubt—"

Slade broke into a sprint and Robin blocked the ferocious punches with his arms, but the power behind them caused him to somersault backwards. Before he could stand up from his crouch—Robin fuzzily realized that barely eating recently had rendered him weak—he heard a furious bellow and felt the kick strike his chest, launching him into the air. In a split second Slade grasped his airborne body by the legs and hurled him into the east wall. He thudded onto the floor in a heap.

"I'm sorry, what is it you were you saying?" Slade asked with mock civility.

Robin struggled to stand. "I was saying… that I doubt _anyone_ could hate you as much as _I_ do."

" _Good_." Robin sensed a smile beneath Slade's mask. "I _live_ on hatred, on vengeance. I'm pleased to see you're finally motivated."

Robin again rose, unsteadily, clutching at the stabbing pain in his chest. _No. I'm_ nothing _like you._

"So you hated him back?" he persisted. "Is that why you slit his throat?"

Robin couldn't duck quickly enough to avoid the kick to his head. Before he could fall, a left hook propelled him the other way. It was all he could do to just block the punches. Again one connected, and Robin tumbled away. He spit blood onto the floor.

 _…Not going as planned…_

He shook his head, fighting the dizziness, when Slade forced him prone with his heavy boot, taking Robin's left wrist in both hands.

"Is _this_ what you want?" Slade threatened, and he pulled hard.

Robin emitted a strangled cry, and then his sudden gasp mixed with a sickening _pop_ : dislocation.

It was when Slade then pulled even more sharply to flip Robin over onto his back that Robin saw his opportunity: from the floor, he launched a kick to the groin. Being on the floor, he couldn't muster enough force; Slade merely grunted, and grasped Robin's right ankle and twisted it outward vehemently.

 _Crackle._

Robin lay on the floor, overcome with the pain in his shoulder and ankle. _Can't…_

Slade stepped onto his left kneecap with all his weight— _crunch_ —and then planted a _stomp_ on Robin's pelvic bone. Robin felt a deep _snap_.

Robin vaguely noticed the echo; he had apparently been shrieking in agony. Then he felt the vice-like grip around his neck. Slade was crouching over him, choking him, and Robin gripped helplessly at the burly arms; he felt like his head would burst.

But then he heard someone running.

" _Stop!_ "

Z. At last, Slade let go. Colors danced in Robin's eyes.

 _No!_ He fought to draw in a breath.

"Ah, there you are," Slade said coolly. "Please leave us; we're rather busy, as you can see."

Z skidded to a stop. Her voice was frantic. "Oh my God… Were you trying to _kill_ him?!"

"Hmm… that could be debated."

Z knelt down beside Robin, whose throat was closing with panic. His eyes couldn't focus.

" _Z!_ " Robin rasped, "Get out of here! _Run!_ "

"Huh?"

Just then she shot out of his line of sight with a cry—Slade had kicked her in the head.

"Leave her alone!" Robin flipped himself over—his veins pulsed in anguish—and attempted to rise to his knees, but failed miserably, hot bolts of pain surging through his damaged body like lightning.

"Oh, _Zoey_ ," Slade sing-songed, ignoring Robin. "You'll never guess what I found in my apprentice's possession." He waved her card in the air.

 _Zoey?_ Robin saw her freeze in her attempt to stand.

"Z, I said _run!_ " Robin cried desperately. But Z just lowered her head dejectedly.

"She won't run," Slade declared. "After all, where would she go? I'm all she has in this world. Isn't that right, Zoey?"

"Stop it," she objected softly. "Don't call me that in front of him."

"I'm fairly certain you're in no position to tell _me_ what to do, girl," he said grimly. He threw the card in front of her on the floor and crouched before her.

Hurriedly she tucked her card back into her pocket. Robin saw her gaze slowly meet Slade's eye. "I—I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Slade tucked her hair behind her ear in a mock gesture of affection, and Robin released a distressed cry when he heard the earsplitting _slap!_ Z fell.

Still helplessly Robin struggled as he watched Slade grasp her by her hair and pull her up to standing. She clutched at her scalp painfully as he leaned his face in close to hers.

"Sweet girl, you're only sorry you got caught," he smiled sinisterly. He delivered a swift blow to her eye socket and then tossed her away like a rag doll, brushing the clump of hair off his arm.

"And as for _you_ , apprentice," Slade began, striding over to Robin, "Only _I_ may command my servants."

Robin saw stars as the punch connected with the back of his skull, and he fell to prone.

He heard Z's voice, strained and high-pitched, unlike her usual soft tone, but he couldn't make out what she was saying; it was as if he were underwater.

The water swallowed him.

* * *

Robin blocked Cyborg's lane to the hoop, ducked into defense.

"Give it up, man; you know you're only four feet tall," Cyborg taunted, twirling the ball on his finger.

"Don't worry, I'll show you how I make up for it."

Beast Boy cheered them on, and Robin saw Raven as referee roll her eyes and smirk.

Cyborg faked left and then darted right, Robin following. Cyborg shot a three-pointer—it bounced off the rim—and Robin leaped into the air and caught it before Cyborg could block him. He shot into a perfect layup: _swish_.

"Aw, come on!"

The pleasant chime of Starfire's laughter resounded—he loved hearing her laugh—but he could barely hear it because the air was so thick with heat; the sun bore down on his head, and he felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

But then he realized Starfire wasn't laughing; she was crying. Suddenly he was lying on his back in darkness, with Starfire leaning over him, her hand beneath his skull. Her hand was hot and wet, and pain coursed sharply throughout his body.

"Robin?" she sniffled.

 _No, wait… it's Z._

Robin shook himself from the dream. He lay in the backseat of a moving car, his head in her palm on her lap. Her face came into focus above him: one of her eyes was swollen shut, and tears streamed from both. His stomach twisted.

He reached up shakily with his good right arm and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. His mouth still tasted of blood. "Are you alright? Why…why are you crying?"

Gently she took his hand in her own and lowered it, but kept a soft grip on it. She looked to the ceiling and blinked away tears, her voice a whisper. "He told me I'm not welcome in his office from now on. If he wants me at all in the future, he'll let me know."

Robin swallowed the lump forming in his throat, partially from the blissful innocence of his dream—he knew he could never have that again—and partially because he knew what Slade's affections meant to her, no matter the man's reasons for… having her.

"I'm so sorry, Z."

Briefly she shook her head. "Don't be. It's not your fault. I should have tried to… keep him with me longer."

Robin coughed painfully, and gave her hand a tender squeeze. "No… I should have been out of there sooner."

The corners of her mouth twitched into a sad smile.

"Where are we going?" he managed, trying to sit up, but Z pressed him lightly back down.

"Don't try to move. You're really hurt. We're headed to Dr. Strait's former office. After we… talked, Slade insisted we take you to see an actual doctor. He doesn't have much faith in my abilities."

"Not a hospital?"

"No. I guess he doesn't trust you enough to keep your mouth shut about everything. Dr. Strait is… affiliated with Slade in some way." She breathed a tense sigh. "I seriously thought he was going to kill you."

"…should have let him."

Z's good eye widened. " _What?_ Don't talk like that. Ever."

What would Slade do if his apprentice died? Robin thought about it for a moment, and soon decided it would be dangerous for him to die; with him dead, there would be no reason for Slade to keep the Titans alive.

Part of him felt defeated at this realization.

 _Do I want to die?_ He forced the thought away hastily, and instead focused on the heat of Z's healing touch against his skull for the remainder of the car ride.

Z and the driver, who turned out to be Slade's other servant, Wells, struggled to remove Robin from the backseat—his stomach lurched at the pain of the movement—but soon got him into Dr. Strait's office, which was an enormous room with countless pieces of medical technology, all hidden inside a mostly abandoned residential area of Jump City, encased in the shadows of the night.

Dr. Strait was a spindly man with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, a beak-like nose and probing dark eyes that made Robin feel uneasy. He must have had an allergy problem too, because he never ceased sniffling. He took full-body x-rays and performed various other tests, during which Robin drifted in and out of consciousness.

Robin fuzzily noticed Z and the doctor speaking in rather stern, stubborn voices, but whatever their conflict, it seemed to be resolved by the time Dr. Strait intravenously administered some kind of strong painkiller. As the medicine spread throughout his bloodstream, Robin sighed in profound relief. Dr. Strait nodded to Z, who at last approached Robin and placed a cold hand on his right hip, her palm growing hot and slightly glowing. Glowing golden, like the late afternoon sunlight that Z so loved to drink in.

"Why didn't you tell me your real name?" Speaking was no longer so demanding with the pain easing.

Z didn't look up, focusing on her healing. "Firstly, you never asked. And secondly… well… he was the only person who called me by it, whenever we were alone. So… I guess that made it sort of… special." She then mumbled in a dejected tone, "But I suppose that's all over now."

 _He took everything from her. Her childhood, her innocence… even her name._ Robin felt sick for her. But what if Slade was removed from her life?

"What you said before… about dreams… Being dead inside without them… Maybe you can find a new dream."

Z scoffed at the notion. "Robin, _please_. There's nothing for me in this life."

Robin closed his eyes, heart sinking. "There's nothing for me either. Not anymore."

Z glanced about the room briefly—Dr. Strait had left the room—and grasped Robin's arm. "Are you sure? Weren't you able to find out anything about the probes?"

"Not really. All I had time to read was ' _ethyrionite nanosopic probes_ '. You wouldn't happen to know what 'ethyrionite' is, would you?"

"Never heard of it."

"There really… is nothing…" Robin whispered to no one in particular.

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

Then a thought occurred to him as he stared at the eye that was swollen shut. "Why don't you heal yourself?"

"It can wait. Your injuries are far worse than mine."

A moment of silence passed, and Robin could barely feel any pain anymore; rather, he felt physically euphoric. The sensation seemed very out of place—inappropriate given the situation he and Z were in. He tried to push away the uncomfortable feeling, but to no avail.

After a time, Robin cast Z a sad and puzzled glance. "Why didn't you run when I told you to?"

She exhaled, pulling her gaze away from his and staring at the wall. "It's like he said. Where would I go?"

"Don't you…uh… have any living relatives? Like maybe—"

"Please stop," she requested almost inaudibly. A hand was clasped in front of her face, her head tilted towards the floor.

Robin did his best to cling to the correct emotions—regret, depression, misery, despair—but the painkillers were winning. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to suppress a meaningless smirk. He shifted uncomfortably, and emitted a sharp exhalation that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a pained hiss.

Z looked up. "Are you okay?"

"I… I think you guys are giving me too much pain medicine."

She lifted a brow. "'Too much'? Robin, your pelvis and right ankle are broken; your left kneecap is shattered, and your left shoulder is dislocated. Not to mention your concussion."

"It just doesn't feel right."

"Do you feel _better_?"

"Well… yeah."

"If you feel better, I don't see the problem. But if you really want me to, I can ask Dr. Strait to lessen up a bit on it."

"Thanks."

The glowing heat beneath Z's hand ceased and she left the room. He heard their mumbling voices, farther away than they actually were, and the air seemed thick despite the cold in the room, as if his ears were ringing. He wished it all away—every sensation, and everything that had happened.

When Z and the doctor returned, her hair briefly brushed his limp left arm as she crouched beside him. "Okay, we're going to slip your shoulder back into joint," she said. "But you should probably be put out while it's done."

He just nodded, craving the obscurity of unconsciousness.

"What _is_ your name? Your full name?"

The corners of her mouth turned upwards slightly as she whispered it.

"Zoey Marie Gregory."

Robin tried to capture the image of her small smile and keep it in the front of his mind, hoping it might bring him a carefree dream.

 _Even if there's nothing left for me… I'll make sure there's something for her._

The notion was comforting before another thought occurred to him.

"Sleep tight," resounded Dr. Strait's nasal voice.

… _If I ever get out of here… No… I'll never get out… There's absolutely nothing I can do to help her…_

Before a sense of new desolation could register, darkness consumed him once more.

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

You probably didn't notice this because I made it intentionally very subtle, but Robin didn't deny Slade's declaration that he no longer had any friends. If you'll also notice, he no longer refers to the Titans as friends; rather, he refers to them just as "the Titans".

I made Robin had a pleasant dream to sort of dice up the heaviness of the rest of the content. (Writing tip: When writing dark fiction, be it fanfiction or otherwise, make sure you give your readers a break every once in a while with some lighter material or comic relief.)

Fun fact: Z's passcode is nine six three nine: "Z O E Y". Her real name. One would imagine that typing in her passcode reminds her of Slade saying her name, something that is very special to her.


	8. Chapter 8: Seeing Red

Author's Note: Apologies for the later-than-usual update; this was the longest chapter yet. Not only that, but the further into this story I go, the harder it is to write it, or so it seems. I'm not really sure why that is. Well, anyway, here it is, finally.

* * *

The first thing Robin noticed as he returned inside the Haunt was that, to his astonishment, he barely felt any remainder of pain from his clash with Slade. Z had healed all his injuries while he had been under anesthesia.

The second thing he noticed was a new sort of intimacy between Z and him; she seemed to now regard him with a greater sense of… something, and vice versa. What was it? Respect? Goodwill? He wasn't sure. Despite her ever-present despair, she had seemed to radiate a serene sort of… newfound acceptance during the car ride back.

Thirdly and finally, Robin noticed that he had lost the privilege of leaving his room; he heard the door lock behind him as he entered. But that was to be expected. And he suspected he wouldn't see Z for a long time.

Training resumed the following day, after a minuscule amount of sleep. It was back to the steel beams and balance work. With Slade.

However, Slade seemed apathetic, as if last night's deadly battle had never happened. Because of that, Robin felt something akin to bitter resentment taking root and bubbling up inside him like a toxin.

The lack of food made Robin's evasions slow, and his anger made them awkward too; his whole body felt heavy.

"You're too slow."

A quick blow to the side caused him to fall off the network, and he tumbled into a crouch, winded.

Slade swung down beside him and crossed his arms in front of his chest thoughtfully. "Why are your reactions so lethargic?" he asked sternly. "Didn't Z heal your injuries?"

"She did."

"If she didn't do her job correctly—"

"I'm _fine_ ," he emphasized, rising at last to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow.

A moment of awkward silence passed, during which Slade just studied Robin from head to toe, and Robin's breathlessness echoed throughout the room.

"Wells!" Slade finally called to the servant, who appeared in the doorway with an alert expression. "Take my apprentice back to his quarters. He will stay there for the remainder of the day."

"What?" Robin couldn't hide his mix of surprise and suspicion. "Why?"

"It's not even noon, and clearly you're spent. Don't worry though; I'll have the problem resolved in a day or so."

Robin thought the last part of Slade's comment held a rather sinister tone. But then again, what could he do? He probably realized Robin wasn't eating and would most likely just have Jasper simply watch him to make sure he ate.

But to Robin's surprise, Jasper didn't stay. He rolled in the table containing his lunch tray and left.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he pulled up the chair and gazed at his meal with dread: dry-looking grilled chicken in a reddish sauce wrapped thickly in lettuce, and a cup of yogurt with raspberries.

After a few bites of each, for the sole purpose of survival, he decided he couldn't eat any more, and proceeded to flush the rest down the toilet.

The hours following lunch were long and miserable; with so much free time, normally absent thoughts plagued his mind like a dark shroud. Flashbacks of events that had occurred during his captivity, like specific thefts, and thoughts of Z. But more than anything he thought of the Titans with their shuddering bodies glowing red during the fight at Wayne Tower. He feared that image would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Robin repeatedly checked the clock by his door: 1:36pm. 3:22pm. He continuously tapped his heel on the floor. 3:58pm. 4:11pm. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. He felt useless. Utterly useless. _Is he punishing me?_

Abruptly he rose from his seat and stripped for an early shower. He lost track of time as steam spilled onto the floor throughout the room, his back ablaze.

As he pulled on his uniform, he noticed the slight blistering of his shoulders. Had the water been _that_ hot?

The steam had dissipated by the time dinner arrived. Again Jasper left him alone with his food, and this time Robin didn't even try; he disposed of it quickly.

The following morning Robin shot Jasper a confused glance when he didn't immediately leave. Jasper pointed to the tray, upon which sat his breakfast as usual, but also a tiny red capsule.

"What is that?"

"I'm instructed to see to it that your medicine is taken."

"Medicine for what?"

Jasper sighed irritably. "Ask Slade if you're so curious. It's some type of amphetamine. Just take it." He handed Robin the glass of water and the pill.

 _Amphetamine? That's a stimulant. I guess that's how Slade plans on fixing my low-energy problem._

Unexpectedly, Robin felt grateful; at this point he'd much rather take a pill than eat such repulsive food three times a day. So he took it.

The days progressed like so, with a red pill in the morning, and Slade gradually stopped remarking upon Robin's sluggishness, and Robin was full of energy, but full of absolutely nothing else. It was a strange feeling.

After a week of the pills, Robin decided he didn't want to feel that way anymore, and conveniently, Jasper had ceased making certain Robin was actually taking the medication, so he began placing the pills underneath his mattress. Unfortunately, to make up for it, he had to force himself to eat all his food; it was misery, but after a few days Robin felt he had the routine down. Slade didn't seem to notice a difference.

At last after many days of training and two missions, Slade reinstated Robin's privilege to leave his room when he wanted, and even to go up onto the roof. That was Robin's foremost desire at the moment.

"We hit a rough patch a couple weeks ago, but I think things worked themselves out. I doubt you two will scheme against me again," Slade had said. Robin had just remained silent.

Now he clambered up the south ladder and opened the hatch. Immediately golden light poured into his eyes. He hoped Z would be up there; he hadn't seen her in weeks and quite missed her—her wit, her soft voice, her company.

Sure enough, she sat against the electrical unit, ankles crossed, her hands peacefully in her lap, the sunlight gleaming off the auburn hair that fell around her face. She started at first, but then beamed.

"Robin! I haven't seen you in… well, it feels like months, to be honest."

He grinned faintly. "It's been a while."

"Please, sit down."

He complied, leaning against the unit beside her. He noticed her smile disappear about of the corner of his eye.

"You've lost a lot of weight."

Robin did his best to look surprised. "Have I?" The way his bones had started to jut out of his skin hadn't gone unnoticed by him. Frankly, he hadn't really cared.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah," he lied. Well, he supposed it was a half-lie; mostly his thoughts consisted of training and missions, distracting him from what he truly cared about, but overall he just felt numb and empty.

Z's eyes were doubtful.

"Well, at least I'm finally eating again," he offered.

She furrowed her brow in concern. "'Finally'? When did you stop?"

"Uh… maybe… three weeks ago? But it's okay; I've eaten every day this past week," he said lamely.

"Have you been feeling depressed?" she asked quietly, gazing into the lowering sun.

Robin sighed wearily. "I honestly don't know what I feel."

She touched his arm. "That's okay, you know," she said in a soothing voice. "It's okay if you don't know everything all the time." Then she chuckled slightly. "You're a bit of a perfectionist, aren't you?"

"…I guess so."

"I suppose I used to be," she pondered. "When I was ten, right after Slade took me in, I used to try and sort of… _compete_ with the girls he bought. I'd steal their makeup and try to make myself look like them."

Z was mildly amused, but Robin was just saddened at her words; how could the notion that a child once envied prostitutes be amusing in the slightest? He found her humor confusing and tragic.

A short silence passed, and the two stared at the transforming sunset. The orange rim was nearing the horizon.

"Do you ever relive moments of your life, Robin? Like, the memories just replay in your mind, over and over?"

"Yes." He thought of the fight at Wayne Tower.

"Even weird ones? Ones that don't seem to have any meaning?"

"I guess, yeah."

As if on cue, a memory of the Titans at their favorite pizza place flashed through his mind. It was ninety-something degrees that day, and they were the only customers. Beast Boy was so excited that they had a new offer: a veggie pizza with broccoli. Robin thought it was odd to put broccoli on pizza, but it had tasted fine. Good, even. Pizza was pizza.

"On this exact day, five years ago… he brushed my hair." She snickered. "Stupid, isn't it?"

"No," Robin replied sincerely. If it was special to her, he could respect that. Even though he knew with all his being that Slade didn't love her. Part of him wanted to shake her awake from her dream.

She rested her head in one hand. "He _spared_ me. When I first found my parents, I tried to heal them, to see if I could bring them back to life. And I couldn't, of course; there are limits to my abilities. But he saw me, saw what I was doing, and put the knife away."

 _Maybe he only thought you'd be useful_ , Robin thought to himself grimly.

But then he froze.

"Knife?"

"Yeah. He cut their throats."

Robin's mouth dropped open.

Z noticed his stunned expression. "What?"

He struggled to speak. "You… you never said _Slade_ was the one that killed them."

"I didn't? Sorry," she shrugged indifferently. "Doesn't matter now anyway."

"Yes it does!" Robin bolted to standing. He couldn't speak for her, but he knew what _his_ parents had meant to _him_. How could she just toss them aside like that?

"What's wrong?" she inquired apprehensively.

"How can you… how can you have… _feelings_ for someone who _murdered_ your parents?" he demanded. "He took _everything_ from you!"

"He also gave me everything I have now," she said seriously.

"What? What do you have now? Besides a few bookshelves and painted walls?"

Z narrowed her eyes at him. "You just don't understand."

"No, I guess I don't," he responded flatly, and turned to leave.

Z huffed. "At least _I'm_ making the best of my situation. You're such a pessimist."

 _And_ you're _completely delusional_ , he thought indignantly, marching away in silence.

Robin returned to his room and paced back and forth. _Why am I so upset?_

He took a boiling-hot shower, re-igniting and expanding the blisters on his shoulders. The pain quelled his erratic thoughts for a time, but they soon returned and he shivered despite his quarters being room temperature.

After dressing, he resumed pacing, his anxiety returning.

Glowing red flesh burned its image into his mind, and he wondered what his former mentor would think of him now. Hell, what would his _parents_ think of him now? They were good, sincere, compassionate people…

 _Unlike you._

Robin kicked a metal chest plate and it crashed into the far wall.

 _Look at you now. Helpless. Pathetic._

 _Worthless._

His next kick landed in the side of his mattress, displacing it. At once his stash of little red pills rolled about, and a few spilled onto the floor. He glanced around to confirm his solitude before gingerly gathering up all the pills and stuffing them into his pillowcase.

Then he reflected for a moment. Z had said a person without dreams is dead inside. _What are my dreams?_

The first notion that came to mind was to beat the living hell out of Slade. But that wasn't probable. So what else was there?

 _I guess I just wish I could stop feeling… anything and everything. Just stop feeling._

Like the pills made him feel.

Robin reached back inside the pillowcase, retrieving the shining pile of capsules, and strode over to the mirror above the sink. He stared at his reflection.

What he saw in his own eyes was hatred. Pure loathing. For Slade, as well as for himself. He didn't much care for Z at the moment, either.

Right now, all he wanted was escape. He supposed _that_ was his ultimate dream. Although escape from his apprenticeship would never happen, he _could_ escape reality for a while. The pills would give him the nothingness he craved.

He placed the pile by the faucet and popped one into his mouth. Cupping his hand beneath the spigot, he collected a bit of water and sloshed it down his throat along with the medication.

Robin leaned on the sink for some time; head down, away from his reflection, just waiting for the effect to arise.

But it didn't. And he was growing urgently impatient.

Impulsively he took another.

And another.

He lifted his gaze to the cerulean orbs that stared back at him. He hated the way he looked without his mask. He hated _everything_ right now. All he needed at the present moment was to distance himself from this detestation. And that was the plan.

Another.

Five. Six.

There were only two left. Water had sprinkled on them; soon they would be soggy and useless.

So he took them.

He remained leaning on the sink, tapping his foot, waiting for the energy and the sensation of numbness. Or, lack of sensation, he supposed. That's what numbness was.

When the door opened after some time—he wasn't sure how long—he started at the sound, and realized as he turned that he was sweating profusely.

It was Z.

"Hey," she greeted him with a tentative smile. Her body language was closed; she gripped one forearm that hung in front of her and she shifted her weight uncomfortably.

"Hey." His voice was lower than he expected. He faced the mirror again, expecting to see apathy, but instead saw a hushed, deep malcontent in his eyes, and that disturbed him.

Z wandered in, glancing around the room. "I just wanted to apologize," she began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I really didn't mean to upset you."

Robin just grunted in response, staring at his reflection. _Where is the nothingness?_

He heard Z sigh. "You could at least look at me when I'm talking to you."

He turned to face her, unease twisting his stomach.

She leaned down to pick up the metal plate Robin had kicked, and he jumped yet again when he heard the metal scrape against the floor.

"I suppose you—" She stopped, and then eyed him with confusion. "Are… are you okay?"

"Peachy." His voice trembled and he gripped the sink tightly behind him.

She appeared unconvinced, but changed the subject anyway. "Look, I know you think that… ugh… how do I even say this…?" She paced about briefly before dragging the chair— _scraaape!_ —towards the center of the room and orienting it to face Robin. She sat.

"You asked how I can have feelings for someone who murdered my parents," she said, looking at the floor. "Well, I know I shouldn't. But… it's… it's complicated."

Z inhaled deeply. "We're human beings. We're social creatures by nature. We're not supposed to spend our lives alone. So I've made do with what I have. I _had_ to. It wasn't a conscious choice I made. Does that make sense?"

Robin nodded, but only half-understood it; the sounds of his bones crunching and snapping beneath Slade's weight filled his ears alongside her voice.

So she'd had to 'make do' with her rapist. Her _rapist_. He gazed at Z, imagining her much smaller, frailer, a ten-year-old child, naked and screaming for mercy underneath her one-eyed assailant. The picture made Robin physically sick.

Beating the living hell out of Slade suddenly felt like a good idea.

He turned back to the mirror and threw a punch towards the upper-left-hand corner.

"Robin!"

Another hit to the center generated long diagonal lines that shattered down into the sink.

"What are you _doing_?" Z rushed over and grasped his arm, but he shoved her away.

Robin pulled a hand towel from its holder and through it gripped a great, foot-long shard. _This will have to do._

As he strode down the hallway with his makeshift weapon, he vaguely heard voices: Z's frantic calls and inquiries, and a small voice inside him that warned him that this plan was dangerous—tremendously dangerous. His heart raced and palpitated.

He hid the glass behind his back as he entered the central room of the Haunt. None of the large or small screens were on; only spotlights here and there cast dim, diffused glows on the floor. _He must be in his office._

Robin stopped. _Wait… which way was it?_ He glanced around frenetically. _Not down a hallway… no… it's the only closed door from this room._

 _Northwest corner_. He was about to step left, but then a force tugged him from behind, causing him to stumble.

Suddenly he and his opponent were face-to-face on the floor, the glass poised above Slade's neck.

Wait a minute… He shook his head feverishly.

Terror emanated from Z's eyes.

 _Z…! It's just her…_

At once he rose, backing away from her.

She sucked in a trembling breath and rolled over onto her side, pushing herself up.

 _Did I really just do that…?_ He felt as if his legs would give out beneath him.

Suddenly he felt a presence behind him, and immediately he swiped the glass at it.

 _Swish_. Nothing.

 _Am I… hallucinating?_

Anger effervesced in his stomach. _All of this, every bit of it, is because of Slade. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be his apprentice, Z wouldn't be his psychological prisoner, the Titans would be safe, and I wouldn't be hallucinating because I never would have taken those damned drugs._

… _And I wouldn't have just held a weapon to her throat._

Robin dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and groaned.

"…Robin?" Z had entered a defensive posture, her knees slightly bent, one foot back, ready to turn and run if necessary. Her expression was fearful and pleading.

His eyes settled on her pocket.

"Give me your card."

"…What?"

"You heard me." He began to walk towards her.

She paced backwards, her hands up. "Don't—"

"I'm not going to hurt _you_ ," he said irritably through clenched teeth.

"But you almost just—"

Robin stopped, his face inches away from hers.

"Give—give me the damn card," he struggled to say, for his mouth was cotton-dry. He swallowed aridity.

She squinted at him. "Your pupils are dilated. Did you sneak into the infirmary and—"

"I don't have _access_ to the infirmary!" he cried in exasperation, and in a swift motion dove for her right hip.

"Hey—!"

Her pockets weren't deep; the card slipped right out. Z clutched frantically at Robin's arm, but he violently shook her off and she tumbled to the floor.

Robin dashed towards the northwest door.

He heard an echo of what sounded like a combination between an exasperated huff and a pained exhalation, followed by her voice: "I'm _still_ not cleared, idiot!"

He swiped the card.

Nothing.

He turned to face her. She hadn't followed him; she was seated on the floor.

"What's the passcode?" he fumed.

She glowered at him. "I told you before, _I_ _don't know it_."

Just then, the door slid open, and Robin directed a vicious slash at the figure— _slllit!_ —and back-sprung away using his free hand. He heard Z gasp.

Slade looked down; a relatively small but somewhat deep gash on his lower chest caught the dim light.

"Well, Robin," he remarked in a pleased voice, "I do believe that this is the first blow you've managed to land on me in months."

"And won't be the last," he replied menacingly.

Slade reached down towards his right boot and pulled out a cruel-looking knife.

"No!" Z scurried over and positioned herself between the two.

Slade regarded her coolly before speaking. "Run along, girl. I'll call for you when we're finished."

Her eyes shot back and forth, at Robin, at Slade. "But—"

"If my apprentice wants a fight, I'll give him one." The knife glinted forebodingly.

The glass sliced through the air, this way and that.

 _Whoosh, whoosh!_

Suddenly Robin heard one of the swipes connect, and he ducked away, pacing backwards. It was then that he noticed with some shock the open wound running across his forearm. It was deep; blood poured from around the fatty tissue. When he tried to improve his grip on the towel and glass, an intense, pinching pain surged through the injury, and promptly he switched the shard to his left hand before he could drop it by accident.

Briefly Robin glanced over at Z, who cowered against the wall, grimacing in panic.

 _This is for the Titans_ , he thought. _And for her_.

An enraged cry escaped his throat, and he launched an underhand stab towards Slade's abdomen, but the man gripped him by the shoulders and sent him spinning into the wall. The glass must have hit the wall too, because Robin heard it snap and shatter.

 _No!_ he thought. _I can't afford to lose here!_

Urgently Robin crouched and his eyes darted about for the longest pointed piece he could find.

Time seemed to move in slow-motion as Robin was snatched up and pinned against the wall, with no weapon, his cheek pressed against the cold surface. He expected Slade to stab him in the back, but no pain came.

 _He's not fighting for real; he's toying with me._

Viciously he struggled beneath Slade's grasp, but to no avail. He breathed heavily and unevenly, and he felt an urgent pressure building inside his head.

At last Slade brought his eye close to Robin's face, and examined him closely.

"Let go of me and fight me for real!" he shouted furiously. He tried to kick backwards, but Slade was pressed against him, preventing him from doing so. The proximity felt awkward and unnerving, to say the least.

"Z!" Slade's deep voice vibrated through Robin's body.

Z rushed over.

"Check Robin's quarters for red capsules. I think my apprentice has been stockpiling his amphetamines."

Z looked bewildered. "You were giving—"

" _Do_ _it_ , girl."

She ran away into the western hallway.

"I _said_ —"

Slade flattened Robin against the wall. "I _heard_ what you said. But I will _not_ fight my apprentice when he is clearly at a severe disadvantage." Slade's breath was hot in his ear.

Robin snorted. "You're worried about it being _fair_? Since when do you care about that? Blackmail isn't very—"

"How many did you take?"

Robin was silent. He felt sweat drip down his scalp and cascade down the back of his neck.

Slade pulled back and then crashed Robin's head into the wall. "You thought you could get out of this by _dying_ , did you?" he hissed. "Well, you're sorely mistaken. If _you_ die, make no mistake, the Titans will _not_ —"

"…Wasn't trying to… to _die_ …"

"How many? I will _not_ repeat myself again." He held the red trigger on his wrist in front of Robin's eyes.

"…Eight," he seethed. "Now _you_ answer _me_. Why did you kill Z's parents?"

Slade scoffed. "Robert Gregory? He was my _assignment_. And his 'wife' tried to protect him. I was authorized to eliminate any and all targets in my way. So, naturally, I killed both of them. I'm a _mercenary_. Why is this so difficult for you to understand?"

"I'll… I'll _kill_ you…"

A mirthful laugh escaped Slade's throat. " _Look_ at yourself, Robin."

Z returned in a blur. Robin heard their voices, but they were muffled and difficult to make out.

"…find any."

"…taken all of the… he accumulated. Take him… infirmary. Give…" Robin heard various medical terms and names of medications he didn't recognize.

Hazily he realized he was being carried. Bright fuzzy lights blinded him. Then suddenly he was lying down. The infirmary, he comprehended.

The voices went back and forth, and he thought the lower voice sounded… strained. _Is he…_ worried _about me?_ The notion that he could cause Slade any anxiety at all made him chuckle faintly.

After an unknown amount of time, after being poked and prodded and surrounded by ice packs—Robin found that particularly strange—he felt a pinch and then a coldness shoot up his arm.

Then nothing.

* * *

When he came to, the ice packs were gone, but he was shivering. He also noticed that the wound on his arm had been dressed and, he assumed, sutured shut.

Z. He was beginning to feel indebted to her. And he didn't like that. How many times had she helped him with his injuries? He didn't want to be indebted to _anyone_.

Robin stared at the ceiling with dread in his gut.

"Oh. You're awake." Z entered. She crouched beside him. "I _knew_ something was wrong. Why didn't you tell me you overdosed?"

"I don't imagine hardly anyone tells anyone else when they've overdosed," he replied foggily.

"Why did you do it?" she asked quietly.

He sighed tiredly. "I… I don't know."

"You had a seizure. Scared the shit out of me. Luckily, Slade knew which drugs to administer."

 _What? Now I'm indebted to_ Slade, _too?_

He couldn't take it. At once he sucked in a trembling breath in what sounded like a sob or a hiss of pain.

Z looked alarmed and clutched his arm. "Are you okay? Do you have chest pains?"

"…No… I just… I can't…" He spread his palms over his face. His voice was barely audible. "…I just _can't_. Can't do this anymore." Defeat weighed heavily on his entire body.

Z took one of his hands and squeezed it tightly within her own, but said nothing.

* * *

Robin shuffled cautiously but quickly through a rather wealthy-looking residential area of Jump City. No moonlight shone down on his path and the stars gave barely any light.

Slade's voice reverberated through the earpiece. "You have two objectives this time. One is information. Once you have that, I'll guide you through the second."

"Confirmed."

"The number is four zero eight. On the right."

Robin used the mini supercomputer to hack into the home's security. He particularly disliked missions in residential areas; they weren't challenging at all and he felt like an intruder.

 _You_ are _an intruder, idiot._

Robin slipped in through the window.

"Inside the closet is the safe. The combination is fourteen, sixty-one, twenty."

Having opened the safe, he replaced the real file with the copy as specified, folding the papers up and tucking them into his utility belt.

"Now, enter the corridor. You'll make a right and then enter the door on the left. Silently."

Robin tiptoed through the wide, extravagant hallway decorated with furniture and art and reached for the doorknob.

"Your objective is elimination of the target."

"What's the target?" Robin thought it odd Slade would have him destroy information rather than steal it.

"The target is Patrick C. Fenton."

"You mean the name on a file?"

"No. Your target is a man."

Robin stopped dead.

"You never said—"

"No, I didn't." He swore he could hear Slade smiling. "If you had known the ultimate goal of your mission, you most likely wouldn't have gone. Who knows? You might have pulled some trick like you did with your medication last week."

"I… I can't do this."

"You can. And you will. Unless you want your Titans dead."

Suddenly nothing felt real anymore. But he did feel his hand back on the doorknob, and despite himself, turned it. His heart pounded in his ears.

"Don't make a sound. Use the knife I gave you and slit his throat."

Robin trudged forward into the pitch-dark room, his veins surging with panic.

He approached the snoring figure in his bed, and slipped the knife out of his boot, grasping it so tightly his fingers hurt.

He leaned over this Patrick Fenton, and nearly gasped as his face came into view.

It was Nightburn.

* * *

Interesting Facts and Insights About _Lingering Demons_ :

I had been playing with the idea of Nightburn coming back into the story for quite some time now, but I wasn't sure how to go about it. I initially had planned to send Robin on a mission with him, and maybe Z too, but ultimately I found this to be far more… inspiring. (Insert evil laughter here.)

Obviously I had to do a bit of research regarding the medication and subsequent overdose and the treatment thereof. But that was fairly easy. What was difficult was getting Robin into the frame of mind in which he _would_ overdose. Because certainly that's not something Robin would normally do. But these circumstances are pushing him to his limits, are they not?

Not-so-fun fact: I've had my own experiences with substance abuse. Which substances, I will not say, as it's probably not appropriate. But sometimes you just feel like you need to escape the harsh realities of life. That's why people become drug addicts. (Thankfully I'm not an addict.)


End file.
